


Such A Winter's Day

by ETraytin



Series: California Dreaming [1]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 07, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, An Epic Tale of the AU Post-Bartlet Era, Extremely Slow Burn, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 94,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETraytin/pseuds/ETraytin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Donna decides to leave the White House and Josh behind, she decides to go much further than across the street. Canon divergence from Impact Winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Such A Winter's Day

When the time came that she absolutely had to leave, Donna thought of Will Bailey first. They'd become friends, of a sort, during his short sojourn in the West Wing. She'd felt sorry for the wall of subconscious resentment he'd had to scale, sorry for the hostility that nobody could talk or think about, but that manifested itself in petty vandalism with condiments and an office full of bicycles. She'd gone out of her way to be nice to him, hoping to offset the hazing till it passed, but he still hadn't stayed very long. Toby's wrath at Will's departure had surprised Donna. He'd treated his new deputy as just one more body to yell at or foist assignments onto, but apparently leaving was an immeasurable betrayal. Donna sometimes felt like she and Will had more in common than she'd like to admit.

The problem with Will was that, even in Donna's head, he was just a substitute. That was where all the hostility came from: Will had taken away and replaced the person they'd wanted to have. So when Donna couldn't face staying in the White House for one more month, let alone the rest of the administration, she skipped Will entirely. She went to the original, the only person she knew who really, truly understood what it was like to suffocate inside the White House, to feel trapped and helpless and useless, to work yards away from someone you loved who would never love you back.

She didn't wait till after work to make the call, even with the time difference that would've been rudely late. While Josh was away at a meeting she slipped out to the metro and down a couple of stops, ducking into the coffeeshop at the National Building Museum. It was a good place to take a break, quiet and generally untenanted by Washington insiders, and the coffee wasn't half-bad. Sitting down at one of the rickety little tables, she took a deep breath, put on a smile and her most winning phone personality, and made the call.

“Carrington, Schuster and Hawthorne, Sam Seaborn's office,” came a pleasant female voice after the second ring.

“Hi Terri, this is Donna Moss,” Donna began, and hated the quiver she could hear in the edge of her own voice.

“Oh, hey Donna,” Terri replied, her voice warming from professional friendliness. Donna spent more time talking to the assistants of Josh's colleagues than she did most of her own family members, and she suspected she wasn't alone. “Do you have Josh on the line? I can put him through.”

“Um, no, actually,” Donna admitted, “I was hoping to talk to Sam myself, if he had a free minute.” No shake there, and the um was excusable, she decided.

“Sure, no problem.” Any surprise in Terri's voice was well-concealed. “Hold on just a minute, he's on the other line but they're wrapping up.” Donna breathed a sigh of relief as the tasteful hold music began to play. That was one hurdle down. It wasn't that she'd really expected Terri to keep her from talking to Sam, but it seemed like nothing was ever easy or simple anymore, and hardly anything ever went right. She sipped her coffee and shredded her napkin into minuscule pieces and wondered how crazy she was for simultaneously craving this quiet and missing being yelled at.

When the music clicked off, she was tempted for a second to hang up the phone and run back to the White House the way horses will run back into a burning barn, but then the so-familiar, so-beautiful voice said “Sam Seaborn,” and she was back on earth again. “Hi Sam, it's Donna. Donna Moss,” she added, then realized how stupid that sounded and clamped her lips shut before she could babble.

“Hi Donna!” Sam responded, and though he didn't hide the surprise, she thought maybe he sounded a little happy too. “It has been way too long since we talked. How are you doing? How's the leg?” One of Sam's most valuable assets, Donna decided, was his ability to make everybody feel important just by focusing his attention on them for a few moments.

“It's much better,” she told him, automatically rubbing the scar through her dark-colored hose. “Thank you for the flowers, they were beautiful.”

“I wish that I could've come visit, but we were in the middle of a trial and I couldn't get away.” His regret seemed honest. “So you're back to the thousand-yard White House relay race with Josh again?” Her loud hesitation gave him pause too. “Or is something going on with Josh?” It obviously occurred to him that one reason Donna might be calling him was to inform him of anything about Josh they didn't want him to see on the news. “Is everything all right?”

“Josh is fine,” Donna assured him hastily. “Well, not totally fine, not after what happened to Leo, and with Baker looking like he'll drop out and the China trip going on, but he's, you know. He's Josh. He just puts his head down and ignores everything that isn't work and knocks over anything that gets in his way and he comes out on top eventually!” Her voice was perilously close to breaking by the end of the sentence, and she hoped Sam couldn't hear.

“Is everything all right with you?” Sam was more perceptive than most people gave him credit for. That, and if anyone on earth could understand the pain in Donna's voice, it was him.

“I have to get out of here.” Donna took a deep breath, a little amazed she'd managed to say it aloud. With the cork out of the bottle, more words came rushing forth.“I... Sam, I want to leave the White House. I want to get out of DC and start something new. I don't want to be an assistant anymore. I can't...” _I can't walk two steps after Josh for the rest of my life. I can't be “and Donna” anymore. I can't look at him every day and see him not looking back._ The words were conspicuous in their absence, a silence on the phone line.

Sam didn't let her twist in the wind. “Come to California,” he told her. “We need researchers like you would not believe. These companies, they try to defeat employee lawsuits by burying us in paper and hiding everything they do behind three or four different shells. Nobody cuts through the BS like you do. You'd be a huge asset.”

For the first time all day, maybe in a lot of days, Donna felt something warm and hopeful sparking in her chest. It was still paper-pushing, but it would be useful and important, and she'd be doing it on her own. Maybe without the crazy White House hours, she could finish up her degree and go even further. Maybe... “And what about next year?” she asked. “Are you still thinking-”

“Midterms,” he told her, that ebullient Sam-grin in his voice. “Senate seat's opening up. I've been working with the state party, I'm going to do it right this time. I could use some experienced help on that, too.”

Donna smiled into the phone. “And I bet I could get a pretty good tan, too. Be a California blonde.”

“Come to California, Donna,” Sam told her again. “You won't even understand how it feels to be in the White House until you get out of there. It's real life out here, and it's amazing.”

Her smile was a little stronger now, and for some reason it seemed easier to breathe. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Anytime,” he assured her. “We've got to stick together.”

By the time she said her goodbyes and hung up the phone, Donna was late getting back to work, but she didn't care nearly so much as she might have once. Josh didn't even notice, careening past her an hour later with an armful of notes for her to type up and a mumbled comment about how Congressman Santos' office would be calling about the Patient's Bill of Rights. She waited for a comment about the lunch he'd cancelled with her that day, or two days before that, but he'd already forgotten. Donna penciled herself in for the next day and began to type, already daydreaming about blue ocean.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first try at fanfic in the West Wing fandom, though I have read probably most of what is out there to read. :) I may continue this story later, but it seemed to stand on its own as a little what-if story.  
> Edit: There is more now! Keep going! :)


	2. I'd Be Safe and Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and kind words of encouragement! I've had some more inspiration strike, so here is Chapter 2. I have another chapter written as well, but I'm still deciding if it is Chapter 3 or a sneakily disguised later chapter trying to jump the line. Feedback is very motivating!

Donna's new office on the fourteenth floor was small and had only a sliver of a window, but it had four real walls and a door that closed, and a small plate on the wall with her name on it. It was more than enough for now. The place was spartan when she arrived, just a desk with a computer, two chairs and a bookshelf being used to store several volumes of Blacks Law Dictionary and the entire California Penal Code of 1998. The Donna of six years ago would've started decorating immediately with yard sale framed prints and dried flowers and maybe some of the pretty porcelain thimbles she'd collected across two campaign trails. New Donna liked the simplicity of sleek lines and blank spaces, and she really liked the quiet peace that came from being able to close her own door.

She'd added to the office, of course. The shelf now shared space with a file cabinet, and after two weeks of work it was already half-full of multicolored folders on any number of employment law topics. Sam's recommendation and her stint in the White House had gotten her the job despite her lack of experience or education, and Donna was determined to prove it had been the right call. She'd learned a lot about unions and contract negotiations from Josh, and more than she wanted to know about OSHA from Margaret, and sometimes she joked with the other researchers about how she'd come to work for one of the country's most preeminent employment law firms from the country's most preeminent office exempt from employment laws.

The work was, as she'd expected, exacting and repetitive, conducted at a pace considerably less frenetic than the barely-organized chaos of the Operations bullpen. Old Donna had thrived under the intense stress and would've chafed at spending her day sitting at a desk and only getting up for breaks. New Donna had twenty-seven screws and two steel plates in her leg, and had severely pissed off her physical therapist by dumping her wheelchair so quickly after surgery. (She'd had to; exemptions from workplace laws had meant no handicapped stalls in the restrooms, a single elevator for the entire West Wing, and far too many narrow corridors. She'd barely fit in her own cubicle.) It turned out that sitting at her desk most of the day and actually doing the exercises she'd been assigned was surprisingly helpful in relieving the pain that had become a constant in her life. Working intently on one project at a time let her focus her mind and shut away all the things she couldn't think about. Little by little, day by day, the crushing pressure that had chased her across a continent began to drip away, and she began to feel the pull of doing something good again. She began to feel valuable again.

The knock on her door startled her a little, but by the time she called a greeting and it opened, she was perfectly composed. “Hey Sam,” she said with a smile that finally felt real again. “I found those diversity studies you wanted, I've highlighted some of the more interesting findings.” She pulled out the folder for him. “If you want I can call Syracuse and talk to the researchers, they might be able to break things down a little more than they did in the paper-”

“That's great,” Sam told her, breaking in gently before Donna could really get going on the potential uses for statistics on unemployment claims made by nonwhite female heads-of-household in Midwestern states. “I'll take a look at that this afternoon. But I came by to see if you'd like to get some lunch.”

“It's lunchtime?” Donna asked, looking blankly at the clock.

“Well, it's 1:30,” Sam teased gently, “so I know that by your standards the day is only a third finished, but we take it a little easier out here. The cafe downstairs is great, and you can tell me how you're settling in.”

Donna nibbled her lower lip and thought about refusing, thought about grabbing a granola bar from the stash in her desk and continuing with her work. Then she reminded herself that this work wasn't time-sensitive, and that nobody was going to rocket past her desk yelling because she hadn't finished it yet. The quick, stupid pang of melancholy she felt at the thought was enough to have her rising from her seat. “Sounds good,” she told him, “just let me grab my purse.”

The cafe in the lobby was small, but catered almost exclusively to the lunch crowd in the offices above it, and by early afternoon was already clearing out. Donna picked out a fig and arugula salad on brioche, mainly for the sake of curiosity, and joked with Sam about what Margaret would think of the gluten-free raisin “bran” muffins. He agreed that it would probably be wiser not to tell her about them, lest the business of the country come to a crashing halt and CJ come after both of them with vengeance on her mind. Neither of them wanted to talk about why CJ was Margaret's boss now, or why the business of the country seemed to be a lot more crashable than it used to be.

“So how are you settling in?” Sam asked as they took their seats. “The new apartment everything you hoped?”

"It's small, but it's nice,” Donna told him, unfolding her napkin across her lap and picking up her sandwich. “And there's no roommate or flight of stairs, so it's pretty luxurious compared to my old place.” She laughed softly. “I think it's really getting used to the weather that's the hardest thing. I'm not used to putting on sunscreen to go to work, especially not in the middle of winter.”

“The curse of fair skin,” Sam agreed equitably. “Just wait till summer. You'll get the best and worst of LA in the summer, the brilliant sun, the thermal inversion, the tourists...”

“I assume those are the worst,” Donna cut in, amused. “What's the best?”

“I'll take you out on my boat,” he told her with a grin. “Then you'll understand why I live here.”

“I look forward to it,” she replied, smiling and taking a bite of her sandwich.

They ate for a few minutes before he asked, “Have you been talking to anybody from DC lately?”

She shook her head. “Been too busy finding a place and getting moved in, then getting everything sorted out at work. I wanted to make sure to hit the ground running.”

“You really have,” Sam assured her. “Alice already says you're a godsend. I think she's planning on sending me a fruit basket.”

“Dibs on the apples,” Donna said immediately.

“In California, they're mangoes,” he replied archly.

“I will never understand you people.”

“It's probably just as well. In any case,” he continued, dragging the conversation back around, “I got an email from Toby a couple of days ago.” Sam hesitated, uneasiness writ large on his handsome face. “He says that Josh has resigned from his job. That he's out on the campaign trail now.”

Donna froze with her sandwich halfway to her mouth. “Josh quit?” she asked quietly, struggling to process the information. She vaguely remembered him talking about how he couldn't possibly leave the White House right now in one of their last conversations, but she'd been so fed up by then that she hadn't wanted to hear anything he had to say. “Did he go to work for Hoynes after all? Or Russell?”

Sam shook his head. “He's got a dark-horse candidate, Congressman out of Texas nobody's ever heard of.”

“Santos?” Donna guessed, her eyes widening.

“Yeah, that's the one. Probably going to get slaughtered by Hoynes on his home turf,” Sam offered.

“He won't,” Donna countered with great certainty. “Josh wouldn't take him on if he was a loser. I just can't believe he'd leave the White House.”

“We did,” Sam pointed out with a rueful grin.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “But we had other reasons too. How did your date go, by the way?”

“It was nice,” her told her, shifting topics easily. “We did the typical first date dance, I picked her up, we had dinner at a good restaurant, then attended the symphony downtown. Afterwards we had a little walk-and-talk, then I took her home with a chaste but beautiful kiss at her doorstep.”

“Sounds good,” Donna allowed, putting her tongue in her cheek. “And you're sure she's not a call girl?”

Sam gave her his best menacing glare, which was not very good at all. “You're a troublemaker,” he groused.

“And yet so untroubled,” she replied with a beatific smile.

“Go figure. But really, she's actually an attorney too, specializes in criminal law so we wouldn't have to worry much about conflicts.” He smiled again and gestured with his sandwich. “She's beautiful, and quick, and incredibly intelligent. Sixth in her law school class at UCLA, and that's saying something.”

Donna looked down and fiddled with the edge of her brioche. “She sounds perfect. Has she got a name?”

“Kinley Danielson,” he announced, clearing his throat slightly when she raised her brow at him. “It actually means “fair-haired Viking,” he explained, “though that's a little bit odd, since she's brunette, but the name suits her. I like women with unusual names,” he added, sounding just a bit defensive.

“You think I'm going to throw stones?” she teased.

“I suppose not, Donnatella.” Sam relaxed and finished his sandwich. Donna did the same, as they talked about work acquaintances and movies they would probably never actually go out to see. She enjoyed the lunch more than she'd thought she would, but part of her mind was still stuck halfway through the conversation, wondering what on earth had become of Josh. She thought about calling him, but what could she say? She'd left him, an unforgivable sin in the credo of Josh Lyman, and he hadn't tried to make contact since. She'd made sure he'd have access to all her contact information even though he hadn't let her give it to him personally, but she knew he wasn't going to call. Whatever he was doing now, he was doing it on his own. She hoped he'd take care of himself.

 


	3. He Knows I'm Gonna Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again who have left feedback and kudos! I'm sort of feeling my way on this story, so knowing what folks think would be very helpful. Also, FYI, from this point on, I'll be taking the canon divergence tag seriously. I've never believed that you should be able to take an important character out of a narrative and have things play out the way they did anyway. Anyway, on with the show!

“Well, it's an insurgent campaign,” Donna managed, wrapping her fingers around her coffee mug and struggling not to laugh at the television screen.

“That's one word for it,” Sam agreed, coming around the couch to sit next to her with his own mug. “The word I had in mind also starts with i-n-s, so it's very close.”

Donna cocked her head and watched as a man in a chicken suit clucked and flapped his arms in front of a bemused twenty-year-old Russell intern and a crowd of cameras before being escorted out of the hockey rink where the Vice President had been speaking. “Do you think he really has a plan?”

“I'm sure he has a plan,” Sam told her, grinning as the news program wrapped up, running its credits over footage of the chicken wandering around in the parking lot outside the rink before trying to stuff itself into a compact car. “He's probably got half a dozen plans. But he's got no money, and his own personal credibility is the only thing keeping the campaign afloat at all.”

“That's how it worked last time though, right?” Donna drew her legs up under her and sipped her coffee. The last thing she'd expected after moving to California had been to get caught right up into politics again, but neither she nor Sam could resist keeping track of Josh's quixotic bid for the primaries. And it was nice to spend time with Sam outside of work, rebuild the friendship that had been rock solid after the crucible of Roslyn, but had inevitably slipped with time and distance. “The only reason Danny Concannon followed the Bartlet campaign was because he and Josh were friends in college, and the only reason anybody thought we had a chance was because Leo was leading the team.”

“And because we won the first primary with more than sixty percent of the vote, but your point is well-taken,” Sam replied, leaning back comfortably against the couch. “Josh has the name recognition to draw attention to the campaign, no question. But he has fewer advantages than we had going in. Governor of New Hampshire not only got us a free primary win, it's built-in executive experience.”

“Which you don't get with a Congressman from Texas, especially when an ex-vice-president from Texas is running against him,” Donna surmised.

“Exactly. Executive experience, a pole position in the first primary of the season, no race problem, much as I hate to put it like that,” Sam grimaced. “Plus we had Toby writing our speeches, with excellent advice and assistance from me, of course. I think Santos is still writing his own stump speech, and it's not bad, but it doesn't sing.” He frowned, and for a moment seemed caught up in how he would've written the speech. Donna had no doubt Sam would've been able to find the music in the words. “And,” he added with a flash of that grin, “Danny followed us around because he was madly in love with CJ. That probably didn't hurt.”

“Didn't hurt the campaign, at least,” Donna muttered into her coffee, then flushed a dull red when she realized she'd spoken aloud. “It probably didn't feel very good to either of them.”

Sam sighed. “No, I guess it probably didn't.” They were getting too close to forbidden territory here, so it was time for one of them to haul the conversation back to safety. “Is it just me, or does Will Bailey look about ten years older than he did last time I saw him?”

Donna accepted the new topic gratefully. “I think it's probably the effect of standing next to the other campaign workers. I swear the median age on his staff is about fourteen.” Her lips quirked upward. “I noticed that on all the campaigns, really. Most of the high-level Democratic operatives are sitting this one out, it seems.”

“Not a lot to choose from.” Sam lifted the remote and began to channel surf as a post-news talk show came on. “You've got Bingo Bob, you've got the guy who not only cheated on his wife but gave classified secrets to his mistress, and you've got Josh's handsome who-the-hell-is-that, plus the usual collection of also-rans. Nobody's getting too excited. They'll jump on board after the primaries.”

“If there's anything left after the primaries.” She liked Sam's house a lot. Sam had never hidden the fact that he came from money and privilege, but he wasn't the sort to be ostentatious about it. She was sure that this bright and airy condo near the beach had cost more than she'd made in her entire life put together. It should've been intimidating, but she felt more comfortable here than pretty much any other place in LA. And yeah, maybe that was weird on several levels, including the one where she and Sam had both fled two-and-a-half thousand miles in large part because of the same man. It seemed like there should be more jealousy somehow, or at least awkwardness, and there had been some of both, years ago. But now it felt more like a mini support group than anything else, and Sam was her best friend in California. And his house was really perfect for watching the political process in all its questionable glory. “Nobody's really making a strong case right now.”

“The entire New Hampshire debate plan is ridiculous,” Sam agreed. “Iowa was bad enough. Most of those candidates were so implausible that they made the real candidates look foolish by association.”

Donna raised her glass in agreement. “The federal parolee and the nun were especially good choices, I felt. But at least there was a debate. This one is shaping up to be Hoynes and Russell standing on podiums and reciting talking points with the rest of the field pressing their noses to the windows. Nobody will learn anything about the candidates like that.”

“Nature of the beast,” Sam said philosophically, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “But hey, it could be worse.” At her raised-eyebrow inquiry, he deadpanned, “We could be living in the greater Boston media market right now.”

She laughed. “I can't even imagine. I guess I just remember how it was when we were, well, you were prepping the president for his debate against Governor Ritchie. There was scripting, sure, but President Bartlet is such a gifted speaker, and a good teacher. I could've listened to him talk for hours.”

“I know,” Sam interrupted with a grin. “That's why we used you as a human shield, especially on the bus. Or on Air Force One.”

Donna pouted. “I always thought that's what you were doing. You're a terrible man, Sam Seaborn.” She crossed her arms and lifted her chin dramatically. “But I still have stories to tell my grandchildren of all the conversations I had with President Bartlet. That's not nothing.”

“No, it's not,” Sam agreed, his eyes softening. “We were all exceptionally lucky to be where we were. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and you were right to savor every moment.”

Mollified, Donna leaned in against his shoulder. “Isn't there some way we can just nominate the President for another term? He's so much better than anyone else out there right now, even if he is sick.”

“Well, there's that pesky twenty-second amendment,” Sam began, but was interrupted when Donna made a rude noise. “And Abbey would kill us.”

“That's a good point,” Donna conceded. “You could be president,” she suggested instead, setting aside her empty mug to gesture with her hands. “You've got a very presidential look to you, very trustworthy.”

“I want to be a senator first,” Sam replied, a strange little smile on his face.

“Of course you'd have to do something very different with your hair- wait.” Donna drew herself up and looked him in the eye. “You're being serious. You really do want to be President.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Sam began, suddenly bashful and looking away, even as he disordered his hair with one hand. “I want to be a senator first. And then, well, who knows?” he added almost defiantly. “President Bartlet told me I could do it.”

“He did?” Donna asked, wide-eyed as Sam briefly told her the story of a very memorable game of chess. “Well then,” she said as though it were a done deal. “I guess we're going to have a lot of campaign strategy to plan in a couple years.” A light flashed briefly in her head, and she studied Sam intently. “If you want to be president...” She hesitated. “That's not what Kinley is about, is it?”

“No!” Sam insisted, almost too forcefully. “I like Kinley very much. I like... I like, women, in general,” he added, embarrassment putting a stutter in his voice. “I wouldn't date her if I didn't have feelings for her, or feel like I could have feelings. And there was Mallory, and I almost married Lisa. I loved Lisa. It's just that a couple times... but Josh was special, you know?”

Toby would've excoriated Sam for the “feel like having feelings” bit, but at the moment Donna didn't feel inclined to tease. “Yeah,” she murmured, dropping her head back to his shoulder. “But if you want to be president, it never would've worked out anyway.”

“Not even CJ could pull that one off,” Sam agreed bitterly. “Guess I dodged a bullet there.” They both winced at his choice of words. Sometimes Donna thought that maybe she and Sam were a little bit too much alike.

At this point there was nothing to do except change the topic entirely or leave. Donna grabbed the remote control and flipped to the tv guide channel. “Seven o'clock means movies are starting,” she reported. “There's Rudy, we watched that the other day. The Cutting Edge is on 39, but I didn't like that one much.” She shook her head. “Shawshank Redemption?”

“Can't really go wrong with Shawshank Redemption,” Sam agreed, relaxing again with the conversation over. “I have no food here. Want to order something from the deli? I'm thinking the reuben basket with malt vinegar fries.”

“Mmm, I'm not that hungry. I'll have the chef salad with vinaigrette and no croutons,” Donna decided.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Should I order extra fries then?”

“Only if you want some too,” Donna told him with a little smile that was entirely too smug.

“And you call me a terrible person,” Sam shot back, and went to place the order. “But for the record,” he called to her from the kitchen, “I believe I have very Presidential hair!”

“That's why you need me on your campaign!” Donna smirked and reclined her long frame on the couch, cuddling a throw pillow. Sam Seaborn for president, wouldn't that be something?

 


	4. And The Sky Is Gray

“The first thing I need to you to do,” CJ ordered, her voice in its most no-nonsense register, “is not tell me anything about the kind of weather you're having out there.”

Donna laughed into the phone, peeking out her window at a gorgeous blue January sky. “My lips are sealed,” she promised. “How come?” 

“If I so much as think about California right now, I'm going to be on a plane tonight, which would be detrimental to both my job and the good of the country and the President at whose pleasure I serve,” CJ admitted with a sigh. “But I swear to god, one more day of freezing rain and snow mix...” 

“At least you don't have to drive in it?” Donna offered. She'd been a little surprised when CJ had called a few weeks ago with a thin pretext about needing some information on one of Josh's pending bills. It hadn't taken her long to realize that CJ was lonely in the big office next to the Oval, without her spin boys, with Leo still recuperating, with the weird tension that came from having been Toby's technical subordinate and now being very much his boss. Donna had always liked CJ a lot, after she'd managed to get over her initial awe, and she wished she could do more to help than be an occasional voice on the phone. 

“Don't get me started on the driving,” CJ groaned. “My baby's been garaged for months, the Secret Service won't let me drive it to work or anywhere routine. Ragtops are impossible to secure, apparently. And I know what I sound like, bitching about being chauffered to work in a Town Car everyday, so don't even bother. Don't think I can't hear you laughing, Donna Moss.” 

“Sorry,” Donna replied with mock contrition. “If it makes you feel any better, I've been riding the Metro to work and this morning somebody tried to sell me designer underwear out of a duffel bag.” 

“Well, was it any good?” 

“CJ!” Donna's laugh was scandalized. “I wasn't going to look at somebody's duffel bag full of underwear! I got off the train a stop early and walked because I couldn't even look the guy in the eye anymore.”

“You're never going to get any good deals on possibly stolen designer underwear that way,” CJ counseled. “So have you talked to Josh lately?” 

Donna flinched at the abruptness of the question, glad CJ couldn't see her over the phone line. “No,” she admitted quietly. “Not since I left work. I don't think Sam has talked him him lately either. Why do you ask?” 

“He was at the White House yesterday, looking pretty ragged.” CJ told her. “I had to cancel lunch with him, and Toby was even more his warm and welcoming self than usual.” 

“Because of David?” Donna asked sympathetically. “I talked to Ginger the other day.” 

“Yeah,” CJ hesitated a moment. “Because of a lot of things. He's not Josh's biggest fan right now, I think. Josh hadn't even heard that David died. In any event, between lunch, Toby freezing him out and the DNC gala, I think he left feeling like he hasn't got many friends left.” 

“What happened at the Gala?” Donna asked. “I saw the art on that, your dress was gorgeous.”  
“Thanks, I almost pulled a muscle just trying to get it on,” CJ replied, and Donna could picture her wry grin. “There was never a friendly sitting president when you were on the campaigns, but when it does happen, the President has to be totally above the primary fray. That means no fraternizing with the candidates or their staff, even for old friends. All the Santos campaign got from the gala was some decent canapes and a photo op of the candidate standing between John Hoynes and Ricki Rafferty.”

“Hey, did Ricki Rafferty's speech sound kind of familiar to you?” Donna began. 

“Honestly, I never even glanced at a copy, much less listened to it,” CJ told her. “I've been too busy trying to keep the entire Southwest from turning into the Sahara and hiring Cliff Calley as Deputy Chief of Staff for Irritating The Hell Out Of Me.” 

“You did what?” Donna burst out, forgetting what she'd been about to say. “You hired Cliff Calley?” 

“That was my first response as well,” CJ admitted drolly, “but Leo turned me around on it. We need someone on the hill with experience-”

“But what about Josh? He'll go ballistic!” 

CJ sighed. “Maybe, but we have to face the fact that Josh didn't just take a leave of absence. He's not going to drop out after South Carolina and come back to the White House, and we need somebody in the job, thinking about the job. Or do you mean Cliff Calley personally?” CJ had always been much too perceptive, even over the telephone, for Donna's own good. 

“There is a possibility,” Donna muttered, almost too low to carry, “that in a moment of weakness and poor judgment back in 2001, I may have slept with Cliff Calley.” 

There was dead silence on the line for nearly twenty seconds. Donna counted them. “Donna... when you slept with Cliff, was that before Leo's hearing in front of the committee?” CJ asked very carefully. 

“Months before,” Donna said, her voice a little tighter. “Before my own testimony, even. I didn't sleep with Cliff because Josh couldn't figure out any other way to get the hearing stopped, CJ!” 

“I know, I know, I'm sorry.” She could hear CJ's sigh. “Sometimes I hate working here. Nothing can be simple, and I'm always looking for the worst in everything. I wasn't even implying that you'd do something like that, but if there was an accident of timing and somebody heard about it even later, it could be a thing, and we haven't even got a press secretary right now to stay on top of that...” 

“CJ, it's okay,” Donna cut in. “I know you didn't mean it. It was just... kind of an unfortunate chapter in my life. Cliff's not a bad guy, but Josh isn't gonna like hearing that he's the replacement guy.” 

“Unfortunately at this point, I can't give a lot of thought to what's going to make Josh happy,” CJ told her. Donna noticed that CJ didn't bother to ask why Josh would have a problem with somebody Donna had slept with years ago. “We're keeping our heads above water, we've got less than a year left, and there are still items on the legislative agenda. I need somebody in that office. And Josh is pissed at me anyway because I'm keeping him out of the Oval and at arm's reach so nobody thinks we're picking a candidate. He could use a call from somebody who's out of the fray.” 

“You should ask Sam,” Donna replied woodenly. “Or I could ask him for you, see if he'll give Josh a call.”

“It's really that bad, huh?” CJ asked softly, her voice sympathetic. 

“I left.” Donna shrugged, tried to put that shrug into her voice, and suspected she'd failed miserably. “I tried to talk to him beforehand, but you know how he is when he doesn't want to be pinned down. At this point, I'm pretty sure I'm the last person in the world he wants to hear from. But I'll have Sam give him a call to check in.” 

“Okay,” CJ said, and there was a wealth of words left unsaid behind it. “I'm sure that will help. But listen, Donna. I just want you to know how proud I am of you, okay? I know it wasn't easy to leave, but you're going to do great things out in California, and getting your degree is just going to pave the way. I've got some friends who went to UCLA, you just let me know if anybody out there gives you any trouble.” 

Donna had to swallow hard before she could speak at all. “Thanks,” she finally managed. “That really means a lot. The school's been great, Sam talked to some people and I'm already enrolled for two classes. You're officially invited to my graduation, even if it takes another five years for me to finish.” 

“I'll be there,” CJ promised. “I need to get going, I'm absolutely buried this afternoon, but it was great to talk with you. Tell Sam I said hello. And if you get a chance, could you call Margaret sometime and tell her that licking the backs of stamps won't give her cancer? She'll believe it if you tell her, she says you're an expert on stamps.” 

“I'll do that,” Donna laughed, “as soon as I get a chance. Bye, CJ.” She hung up and took a minute to rest both hands on her desk and look out the window. Sometimes, especially after a call from DC, it was hard to believe she was even here and not right back at her desk in the bullpen. But she had a lot of work to do, and there was no time for woolgathering. She made a note to call Sam and Margaret later, and got back to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small canonical note: I had a reader ask about the bit last chapter where Danny and Josh are college buddies, but Sam and Josh are not. Sam and Josh didn't meet in college (Sam went to Princeton, Josh to Harvard), they met at the beginning of their political careers in Washington DC. We don't know exactly how Josh and Danny met, but they've been friends for a long time and Danny knew the anecdote about Josh taping his Fulbright letter to his face, which is a college stunt that probably didn't get shared around too much. So I made a little creative stretch there, because Danny and Josh are fun together.


	5. Preacher Like The Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone for all the great feedback I've gotten so far! Talking with readers about the story fuels my creativity like nothing else. Also, if you'd like to follow the continuing saga of me completely freaking out over the continuity of time in The West Wing, you can find me on Tumblr at ETraytin.

Sam had an office on the fifteenth floor of his new law firm, easily twice the size of his office in the White House, and with a view that let him watch people crowding through Wilshire Boulevard all day and night. There were tasteful framed prints on the walls, along with his familiar, defiant “Don't Tread On Me” flag hanging right across from his desk. It seemed more appropriate now than ever, working in employment discrimination. He liked his work, liked getting paid well for the long days he put in, but especially liked the feeling that he was making an immediate difference in the lives of his clients. It gave him a reason to come into work energized every morning, something he'd eventually lost in his previous job. 

When Donna had called him in search of a way out, he'd recognized the tone in her voice. He'd only heard it from her once or twice before, in the deepest depths of the MS scandal, and right after Josh's abortive plan to take Amy to Tahiti. He'd recognized it much more clearly from his own voice, the way he'd sounded pretty much every day after he'd gone out on a limb with Kevin Cahn, trusted his own convictions more than the cynicism of his friends, and had the branch neatly sawn off behind him. It was the tone of voice that reminded him she was strong, and being strong, but there was only so much any one person could be expected to take before cracking wide open. 

Sam knew he could be a bit of a sucker for a beautiful woman in trouble (he really didn't think there were many men who weren't,) but Donna was different. Donna was his friend, maybe the best female friend he had, and they'd gone through a lot together. He remembered enduring fourteen torturous hours of surgery with her, either sitting together silently in the waiting room, or fumbling through trying to do his job while she sat lonely vigil for both of them. He suspected she'd always known how he felt about Josh, just as he'd always known about her, and it had made them gravitate together when the world seemed to be falling away. He remembered how it had felt when the surgeon had finally told them Josh would recover, the tremendous wash of relief, and then Donna literally falling into his arms as her trembling legs gave way. Her heart had pounded against his chest as he'd breathed in the faded-flowers-and-sweat scent of her hair, and all he'd been able to think was thank god, it's going to be okay now. It hadn't been, obviously, but it was still a singular moment in his life. She'd been there for him when he learned about his dad, she'd been the only person he told about Will Bailey and the 47th. There'd never been any chance he wouldn't answer when she called. 

It wasn't as though he'd needed to do very much. A few words in the ear of a colleague, a glowing recommendation to offset a thin resume, a quick call to a buddy at UCLA, and Donna had managed the rest of it on her own. Even after hearing her voice, he'd been a little bit shocked at how exhausted and fragile she'd looked upon arriving, fresh from what couldn't have been an easy departure, followed by a forty-hour cross-country drive. She'd pushed herself too hard, had needed a cane to walk for the first three days, but after that she was off and running again. By now, two months into her new job, she fit in as seamlessly as if she'd been there for years. Even the senior partners were starting to notice the quality of her work. She looked healthier too, and the shadows were gone from her eyes. Sam couldn't be happier for her. 

The funny part was, altruistic as his motives might have been, Sam kind of felt like he'd gotten the best part of the deal. He hadn't let himself think about it much, but he'd missed his life in DC far more than he'd expected, especially his friends. Everyone had promised to keep in touch, but life in the White House moved at the speed of the crisis at hand, so he wasn't surprised that communication became a little sparse. Donna, though, seemed as firmly hooked into the assistants' gossip network as ever, and she was always happy to pass him tidbits on whatever juicy happenings she'd heard about from Ginger or Bonnie or Margaret. (According to Donna, Carol had press secretary instincts and would not gossip in emails, so all her gossip came secondhand through Margaret. Sam found that odd and fascinating.)

Not only that, but having Donna in California gave Sam a local friend with whom he could talk about more than law, politics, or sailing. Which, granted, they did talk about a lot. But she'd come over to his house and they'd eat and watch movies or primary results, talk about their friends, and sometimes she'd sneak her laundry in to avoid a trip to the laundromat. It was, he decided, less like dating and more like having a guy friend who happened to be a girl. Of course, Sam's guy friends hadn't always worked out exactly the way he'd planned, but no metaphor was perfect. He was happy to have her around. 

Except today. Today Donna had sailed into his office at three in the afternoon with a pastry from the cafe and the blithe declaration that CJ had told her to tell him to call Josh. “CJ says they've had to put up a wall around the president for the primaries, and Josh is feeling isolated. He needs a call from a friend.” 

“Well can't y-” 

Sam's words had been cut off by an absolutely withering glare from Donna. She shoved the paper bag into his hands. “Here, I brought you a pastry. Call Josh.” Then she was gone again, leaving Sam with a cruller and a dilemma. It wasn't as though he didn't want to talk to Josh, of course not. But Josh had seven primaries three days from now, and he was probably not in the mood for a social call. It would make more sense to put it off for a week until there was a bit of a lull. Except that Donna would ask him if he'd called, and she'd give him the face, and then she'd tell CJ, who would probably call him herself, and CJ might start breaking out the nicknames that made him feel like her seven year old kid brother, and Sam could really do without more headaches in his life right now. A quick call, then. 

He picked up the phone, punched the speed-dial button. It rang four times, and Sam wondered if he'd gotten worked up over nothing, then was answered with a fumbling clatter and a very harried “Josh Lyman.” Obviously Josh had not acquired an assistant for this campaign yet. 

“Hi Josh, it's Sam. I just wanted to call and check-”

“Sam?” Josh's voice held mostly surprise, but Sam hoped he could hear pleasure as well, wondered if maybe there was caution, too. But Josh at least sounded friendly when he said “Haven't heard from you in awhile. Busy saving the world from insufficiently padded factory floors?” Sometimes friendly and passive-aggressively obnoxious sounded very similar from Josh.

Sam let it roll off. “Something like that. Congratulations on your finish in New Hampshire, you got a lot of positive attention there. That one-minute ad was really something. Did he write it himself?” 

“He didn't write it at all,” Josh said proudly. “Nobody did. That was Matt Santos going off the cuff. He's the real thing, Sam.” 

It took a moment for Sam to rearrange his thoughts before he could speak again, caught up in the memories of last time Josh had told him about the real thing. “That's impressive,” he finally managed. “Even if he didn't make it into the debate with Hoynes and Russell, he got a lot of people talking about him.” 

“Yeah, and a lot of people talking about Hoynes and Russell being cowards,” Josh pointed out with dark satisfaction. 

“It didn't do anything good for either of them,” Sam agreed. “So where are you now?”

“Albuquerque, can you believe it? We figure New Mexico and Arizona are our best shots next week, and at least it's three days in warm weather.” 

“Wow, I don't know that we spent three days in New Mexico during the whole of Bartlet For America,” Sam observed, genuinely surprised.

“We've got no chance in South Carolina, no chance in Delaware, Missouri or Oklahoma,” Josh said flatly. “And North Dakota's still pissed at me because we didn't want them taking North out of their name. We're sending surrogates everywhere we can, but if we don't pick up at least a couple states outright, we're done before Super Tuesday.” 

It was a good sign, Sam reasoned, that Josh was ready to gripe about the campaign to him. He didn't do that with anybody he didn't trust. “You'll get them,” he assured Josh. “Polls show Santos is wildly popular with the Hispanic community, and they're getting out the vote. You'll get those two, and with Virginia and DC next week, maybe you'll sleep in your own bed a couple of nights.” 

“Sleep is for the weak,” Josh scoffed. “I had Ronna assign a volunteer every day just to keep the coffee machines full at all times. I'm gonna have an ulcer you can push a golf ball through.” 

Sam hesitated. “Had... who?” 

Josh caught the meaning. “Oh yeah, weird, huh? Ronna Beckman, she's doing logistics and administration for us. No relation.” The joke fell flat without bothering to even teeter. 

“Ah,” Sam said, unable to think of anything to say for a moment. Speechwriter, heal thyself. “So Donna's out here in California now,” he blurted, then facepalmed because Josh couldn't see him anyway. 

“I heard that,” Josh replied with terrible forced casualness. “She's doing paralegal work at your firm, right? How's that working out?” 

“She's actually heading up a team of five researchers for the employment law division and taking classes part time at UCLA,” Sam's casualness was equally forced, but he didn't like the dismissive way Josh said 'paralegal.'“Everybody loves her.” 

“That doesn't surprise me.” Josh's voice was suddenly strained and hoarse. Sam wished he hadn't said anything. This was probably not the best way to cheer Josh up. “How you doing out there?” 

“Me? I'm fine,” Sam replied quickly, pushing past the topic of Donna. “We're starting settlement talks for a major case on Monday, I'm confident we'll do well for our client. Who is not an oil tanker,” he added with some satisfaction. 

“Good, that's good.” Josh's voice was distracted now, growing distant. “Listen, I gotta go do a thing for the Congressman. Nice to talk to you, we should get together on our next California swing.” 

“That sounds good.” Sam hesitated again, but decided he might as well go for broke at this point. “Do you want me to say hi to her for you?” 

“Whatever,” Josh said, voice clipped. I gotta go. Later.” The decisive click of a phone slamming shut ended the call. 

Sam looked down and muttered a few bad words at the lumpy doughnut sitting on his desk. That could've gone a lot better. But it had been, as he had planned, short. Now he just had to figure out how to spin it for Donna. He suspected she would not believe it if he told her that Josh said hi, and that he really probably shouldn't say anything about the ulcer, even if Josh was almost certainly exaggerating. She'd been a little bit weird about Josh's health for years, and Sam didn't want her feeling guilty. One of them feeling guilty was more than enough.


	6. Interlude I: Been Thinkin' About My Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I had originally planned to hold off another day or two on this chapter, but I got a call today about a foster-or-euthanize case on four kittens and their mama, so I'm going to be pretty busy for the next few days! Don't worry, I've got another chapter almost in the bag for the next update, but things may be a little bit slower. Thanks again for all your feedback and support! 
> 
> This chapter is noticeably different from all the ones before it, in style, tense and POV. I've labeled it as an Interlude because it's almost more a companion piece than part of the story itself, but it speaks to everything that's come before. Expect a return to form for next chapter, but I'm interested to see what people think about this little divergence.

Contrary to popular opinion, Josh Lyman was neither clueless nor even particularly obtuse when it came to the emotions of others. Nobody got to the top in backroom politics without an innate ability to size up another person and understand what they needed, what was most important to them, what they would sacrifice for and what they would never give up. Sure, a lot of times he simply didn't care what his opponents were feeling, but that didn't make him unaware. When it came to the people he was closest to, he'd always understood more than they'd thought. It just hadn't been enough to let him keep them from slipping away. 

Sam, god, Sam. He'd known Sam forever, it seemed, back in a time when they were barely politicians, barely adults at all, finding their way around Washington DC for the first time and trying to figure out the people they wanted to be for the rest of their lives. Sam had been just as beautiful then as now, dark hair and sculpted face and impossible blue eyes that lit up with every new challenge. They'd made friends at the office and would go out together to blow off steam, pick up women, get irresponsibly drunk and talk about how someday they would cut through all the bullshit and change the face of politics forever. Sometimes they'd find women to take home, sometimes they'd bring along whoever they were dating at the time. Twice, just twice in three years, they'd gotten drunk enough to take each other home and wound up in Sam's bed together. But it was the eighties, and people could experiment, and they'd nervously laughed off both those times and never really talked about it afterwards. It didn't mean Josh didn't remember. 

But then Josh had gone to the whip's office and Sam had gone to New York, and though they called each other after important votes or Mets games, it wasn't the same anymore. That was how it happened, Josh had figured, and ignored the pang in his chest that might have been lost chances. Sam had dated, mostly upwardly-mobile professional women looking for suitable marriage partners. Josh had dated, mostly Washington insiders with sharp smiles and quick minds who were looking for a power husband who would one day sit in important rooms. There had been Lisa, and there had been Mandy, and then there had been a day when Leo McGarry asked a favor from the son of an old friend, and then there was Sam, looking ridiculously polished in his thousand dollar suit but with the same impossibly blue eyes and goofy grin. He'd left Sam behind and gotten on the train to Nashua, but “Josh, what are you doing?” echoed in his head the entire time. When he'd watched Jed Bartlet speak and realized what kind of president he could be, he was back on the train to New York before the rubber chicken was fully coagulated in the pans. 

Working with his best friend again had been amazing, infusing Josh with the energy to run a no-money, no-sleep campaign for a candidate who couldn't even remember the names of his closest advisors from day to day. With Sam around, he had a partner in crime, someone to bounce ideas off, someone to take his own pragmatic make-the-sausage politics and turn it into something beautiful and full of the ideals Josh was a little afraid to even say aloud. And sometimes he'd meet Sam's eyes across the room, but there was Lisa (for awhile) and Mandy (until there wasn't), and neither of them were naive or reckless anymore. They'd won the election, gotten the chance to change the world that they'd always talked about. Josh knew that doing anything to risk that chance would've been crazy, but sometimes when he would watch Sam get worked up and start making passionate speeches to anybody who'd listen, he had wondered if maybe a political genius could figure out a way. 

During the celebration after the first State of the Union, Leo had clapped Josh on the shoulder while they watched Sam and Toby celebrate their own speechwriting. “You'll have my job one day,” he'd told Josh conversationally. “You'll have to kick Sam's ass around the block a few times until he's ready, but it'll happen. That'll be the day, won't it?” He'd given his hoarse bark of a laugh and wandered away then, leaving Josh with his jaw on the floor and such an overwhelming feeling of pressure in his chest that for a moment he'd wondered if he was having a heart attack at thirty-eight. Pride, there was incredible pride in knowing that Leo was right, that this could really happen. Anxiety, plenty of that, over the fifty million things that Josh would have to do in order to make that happen. And loss, amorphous, nebulous, not to be examined, over something that had never really existed in the first place. 

Josh had still felt the weight of Sam's gaze on him from time to time, sometimes from halfway across the West Wing, sometimes from inches away, but he didn't look up to meet it anymore. Sam was going to be president someday, but not if Josh let the things they didn't talk about turn into a noose around Sam's neck. If Josh could just ignore those looks and those thoughts, then it would be just like they didn't exist, and he and Sam could be best friends like they'd always been. Except it didn't work out that way. Not meeting Sam's long looks had slowly turned into not going out alone with Sam for drinks, turned into not talking to Sam the way he used to because he kept choking on all the things he couldn't say. He'd send Donna to talk to Sam instead, then close himself off alone in his office, an unlikely figure for a Jewish martyr.

And Donna, of course there was Donna too. Josh had still been finding his feet on the campaign trail, stumbling around with Mandy, tiptoeing around Sam, when he'd walked into his office one day and run straight into another pair of impossible blue eyes. Donna was fresh off the farm and fresh out of a bad relationship, achingly vulnerable but at the same time so brave it had made his heart clench. He'd thought it had taken courage to leave Hoynes and join the Bartlet campaign, but he'd never in a million years have had the guts to pack his whole life in an old car and drive halfway across the country for the possibility of a job that paid nothing but might change his life. Technically he'd been doing her a favor, taking her on and giving her his staff badge, but in the moment it had felt like giving her nothing more than a deserved acknowledgment. Then she'd given him her sun-bright smile for the first time, making his heart clench even harder, and he'd wondered what he was getting himself into here. 

From almost the first day, he'd fallen into a synchronicity with Donna that bordered on the eerie. Her office skills were basic and her political knowledge all but nonexistent, but she had a quick mind and such strong intuition that she usually seemed to know what he meant before he even finished saying it. There were whispers on the campaign because she was beautiful and so young, but he'd deliberately chosen not to notice those things about her. Didn't he have enough problems already? In any case, the fact that she'd managed to whip his disastrous office into shape had quieted any naysayers, especially after the way he'd fallen to pieces during her brief failure of resolve back in Wisconsin. By the time they'd stepped into the Operations bullpen for the first time, he'd had no idea how he'd ever coped without her. 

No matter what crisis he'd gone through, national, professional, or personal, Donna had always been there, a step or two behind him, guarding his flank as they'd waged the political battles he'd been born to fight. She'd researched for him on a thousand topics, networked all over Washington to keep him informed of disasters hiding in the weeds, taken up deliberately contrarian positions on every stance he'd chosen, just to hone his arguments to perfection before he unleashed them. For all practical purposes she'd been his deputy and protege, but in reality, on paper, she was always his assistant, subordinate to him, subject to his evaluations and criticism. He'd seen the looks she gave him from across his desk, heard the undertone to her playful banter. How could he not? Just the heat of her body when she'd sit next to him on buses or in meetings was sometimes enough to drive him to distraction. And he was no saint. He'd flirted back, bought her presents, let her tie his bow ties as she watched him from below her lashes. But he'd never touched her back, not like that. It would've been inappropriate. 

Three years of detente in all directions, and it might have gone on forever if it hadn't been for a handful of skinhead assholes and a single wild bullet. Josh had no memories from the night of the shooting or the next three days, but he'd been told how it happened, how Donna had waited like a statue, dry-eyed, barely moving, through fourteen hours of surgery. He'd seen the videos of Sam on Today and Good Morning America, answering questions as though he barely heard them, swallowing two or three times whenever Josh's name was mentioned. Toby had told him once, when they were both very drunk and he was feeling lyrical, how when the word had come down that Josh would live, Donna had collapsed into Sam's arms and Sam had held onto her like his last anchor to the earth, her face against his neck, his face in her hair. Josh's first memory of the hospital was of them both, sitting on either side of his bed. Sam had been asleep with his head resting very uncomfortably on the raised bedrail, while Donna read quietly aloud from Newsweek. He couldn't remember the article, but she'd assured him that all the magazines that week were about him. He did remember how relieved he'd felt, how grateful, to wake up and realize they were both with him. 

Things had been different after the shooting, in ways both subtle and profound. He'd missed three months of work while trying to piece himself back together, and Donna and Sam had both been there for that as well. Donna had run his office for him, using her own light touch to keep the assistant deputies in line and on task, freely invoking his name even when he was really too drugged to be making cogent decisions on his own. Sam had stepped in as liaison to the Hill, taking Donna's thoroughly-researched positions and turning them into an actual legislative agenda with which to prod the Congress. When they weren't working, they'd taken it in turns to look after Josh, Donna mostly in the days, Sam in the nights. They'd come to some kind of understanding during that time, one that Josh had never been a party to, but he could see it easily enough in the tight-knit alliance between them after the midterms. Maybe it was fatuous, but it had reminded him a little bit of two people who'd gone to war and seen things nobody else could comprehend. 

He hadn't thought about it much at first, just grateful that the two people who comforted and confused him most could get along with each other. After he'd returned to work, though, he'd found himself swamped by inexplicable anger at times, and at other times by suffocating isolation and loneliness. How did Sam and Donna understand each other, how were they war buddies, when Donna hadn't even been there that night? When Sam's worst injuries were scraped hands and skinned knees, not a bullet through the thoracic region? (That's what it was in the hospital and in CJ's briefings, not his chest, not his heart, “the thoracic region,” like he'd gotten shot in the demilitarized zone of some unpronounceable ex-Soviet state.) How were they getting on with their lives and going on dates with unsuitable people and god, still watching him with unbearably heavy gazes from impossible blue eyes? He couldn't reach out, so he'd pushed instead, taking verbal swipes at Donna, ignoring Sam, burying himself in the work that was always his refuge from things he couldn't think about. And even after all that, after the concert and the window and Stanley, Donna had taken him home to her apartment because his was too cold, and on Christmas Day she and Sam had boarded up his window frame and then rehung the curtains so he wouldn't have to look at it till it was fixed. They'd watched black and white slapstick comedies and eaten Chinese food (Jewish Christmas, Sam had quipped,) and Josh had finally started believing that maybe people really could get better. 

Things had gone almost back to normal, but then there had been the MS debacle and the hearings, and Josh had seen Sam's deep disillusionment but hadn't been able to say anything about it. It was his fault, after all. He'd dragged Sam into this, promised him the real thing and delivered a frightened, lying man with feet of clay. He'd dragged Donna into it too, deeper than the other assistants, by relying on her for so much, for being closer to her than was proper even if he'd never crossed the line. If either of them had broken, it would've been his fault. But they'd each rallied in their own way, and they'd kept his head above the water at the same time. That lasted barely long enough to catch a breath, and then it was reelection and Bruno, midnight in America and a kind of campaign none of them had hoped for. Sam got louder and louder as his voice was heard less and less, and Donna had all but disappeared, shrunk small by the incident with her diary, made invisible by the radiating presence of Amy Gardner. Josh had seen all that too, but he'd been exhausted by Sam's stubborn idealism and angry about Donna's nebulous act of betrayal and he'd pushed all of it aside to focus on the thing he could actually affect. And sure, he hadn't been entirely absent, he'd tried to comfort Sam after Kevin Cahn and the return of Lisa, and he'd actually accomplished something nice for Donna when he'd gotten her teacher a Presidential phone call. But in hindsight it had been so little, not nearly as much as he should've done, not nearly what he owed. 

He'd thought things would be different in the second term. Maybe he could've sorted some things out in his own head if he'd just been given a little time to think without having to think of polling numbers and the values voters of America's Heartland. Instead the election had come and Sam had gone, and with Amy and everyone else pushing him to run in the special election, what could Josh have said to make him stay? Sam had claimed he'd be back after the vote, but Josh could see in those impossible eyes that something in Sam was desperate to escape from what had become of them. So he'd let Sam run to California, run for Congress, run screaming away from the White House and from Josh himself. Josh tried not to think about it very much, and luckily there was always work. There had also been Amy again, and he hadn't been entirely sure she was anything he wanted, but once Donna had started seeing Jack Reese, at least Amy had given him something to counter with. He couldn't say aloud why having a counter had been so important, but even with Jack and Amy gone by Inauguration, he and Donna had both been bruised by the experience. 

There had been a moment on the night of the Inauguration Balls, when he'd looked into Donna's eyes and seen everything in her that was waiting for him, all the love and trust in the world, that he'd thought seriously for the first time about reaching out and taking it. Taking her and keeping her and damning the consequences for both of them. He'd already lost Sam, and something inside Josh had known that Donna wouldn't look at him this way forever if he kept looking away. But it was wrong, he'd reminded himself. It was inappropriate and wrong and it would cause a scandal that would see both of them crucified by the right wing press. That might have been nothing new for him, but Donna, beautiful, smart, intuitive Donna with her quirky filing system and no college education, she'd never have worked in Washington again. So he'd made her call him “Wild Thing,” and had put her in a cab alone at the end of the night with money to get home and his key to her place, then had buried himself in the business of the government for weeks so he wouldn't have to see the love in her eyes fading into confusion and disappointment. Sam's election had ended the way everyone predicted, and Sam had decided to take a job at a law firm in Los Angeles instead of returning to DC. Then there way Hoynes, and Zoey, and Glen-Allen Walken, and Josh didn't even have time to miss anybody. 

It wasn't as though he hadn't seen something coming with Donna, obviously. He wasn't that obtuse. But he'd had no idea how he could get by without her, and he had no viable plan that would let him keep her, so the only solution was to ignore the problem and not acknowledge it at all. They'd still worked together as well as always. She'd kept him in one piece through the hell that was Carrick and Angela Blake, she'd kept his office running via cell phone during the shutdown, she'd held her own with the pardon attorney and in the Oval Office (even if she'd wept on his shoulder after learning about Donovan Morrisey.) After the State of the Union, Angela Blake had come to him to ask for Donna in Legislative Affairs, where they needed someone with an endless well of tenacity to coordinate the policy shops. It would've meant more money and more responsibility for Donna, but it would've meant her leaving Operations, reporting to his office and Communications equally and usually through his assistant deputies. It would've meant her leaving him. He'd put Angela off with some muttering about big projects in the pipeline and maybe after the midterm elections. Later he'd wondered a thousand times if he'd moved her, or if he hadn't blown her off on that damned Brussels trip, maybe things wouldn't have happened the way they did. 

Josh had enough regrets to keep him in therapy well into the afterlife, but giving Donna that diplomatic passport was easily in the top three. It hadn't been the career advancement she'd wanted and there'd been no real need for the Deputy Chief of Staff and the Communications Director to have eyes on the ground in Gaza, but Toby had wanted someone keeping an eye on Andy and Josh had wanted Donna not to leave him, and somehow that translated to him sending her to the most dangerous place on Earth, armed only with a little brown book and a laptop. When CJ had stopped him in the hallway and told him about the CODEL, he'd felt the familiar crushing chest pain he associated with love and bullets. His first, sudden impulse was to call Sam, make sure he was safe, ask what he was supposed to do now. The urge passed in seconds, but hours later he did call Sam from the plane, even if all he could do was worry along with Josh. Most of that trip was a blur in his memory, till he'd gotten to that hospital room and she wasn't gone and his heart could beat normally again, even with the new Irish boyfriend there to remind him of the lines he'd drawn and couldn't cross. Then Josh had gone and done his job, and come back and this time she wasn't there or okay and words like pulmonary embolism and brain damage erased all thoughts of lines entirely. He'd stayed at her bedside for hours, thinking pleas too disorganized to be prayers, until she'd opened her impossible blue eyes and murmured his name, and in that moment there was nothing in the world he wouldn't have given her if she'd asked. But she'd been exhausted and drugged, and she'd smiled at him instead and gone back to sleep. 

He'd planned on keeping an eye on her when she got back to the States. Everything had been so hard for her at first, even just dressing and feeding herself, much less navigating the hectic pace of her life. She'd come back before she had probably really been ready, but the whole world had been going to hell and he'd needed her so badly that he didn't tell her no. He'd meant to help her do things, and make sure she went home when she was too tired and took her medicine when the pain got bad. And sometimes he had, but sometimes he'd left her sitting in the middle of the hall in her wheelchair, or asked her to stay just one more hour so she could finish something vital, or avoided looking at her face because seeing her in pain made him hurt too, made him remember that he was hurting her and there was no way to fix it. He'd noticed her tension and her bursts of sullen anger, but there'd been nothing he could do, not with Leo sick and CJ struggling and the country seeming ready to fly apart at the seams, not when he didn't even know if he still wanted the career he'd sacrificed everything for. He hadn't known if he was ready to leave the White House and start all over again, hadn't known if he was strong and smart enough to do it on his own, hadn't known what it would mean for him and Donna. 

She'd started scheduling meetings with him, like she were some rogue Congressman he was supposed to talk back into line, but he didn't know what to say to her, so he'd found a reason to cancel, first once, then again and again. Eight times, he'd realized later, too late. Eight times he'd blown her off, made her feel worthless instead of invaluable, until she'd stopped him in the middle of the bullpen and told him she was leaving and his mind had gone entirely blank and he'd done what he'd been doing for a year and a half: deny the problem entirely until he could think of some way to fix it. When he'd looked into her cubicle the next day and a stranger was at her empty desk, all he could see was Donna's eyes as he'd turned and walked away, still impossibly blue, but shattered and sad and alone. 

It hadn't taken long to figure out where she'd gone. Donna was methodical to a fault, even when she was packing her whole life into an old car and driving all the way across the country for a chance at a job that was entirely unknown but might change her life. It turned out she'd given two weeks notice to HR, sixteen days and eight broken lunch meetings ago, had provided them with a Los Angeles post office box as a forwarding address, and the law firm of Carrington, Schuster and Hawthorne as a work contact. Josh hadn't known whether to laugh or throw something when he'd realized that she'd run away to Sam, because of course she had. He'd noted the number, knowing as he did that he'd never call, because what could he possibly say? He'd given her everything he had available to give and it hadn't been enough and she was gone and it was over. He'd flown to Houston the next day. Leaving the White House had seemed less like a gamble by then. Somehow it seemed more like an escape.


	7. Passed Along The Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's another update, to brighten up a dreary Monday morning. The new kittens are not well, which is pretty usual in these cases, but they're hanging in there, and so am I. I'm sorry I haven't responded personally to recent comments, I've been up to my elbows in antibiotic drops and kitten milk replacement, but your comments have really meant a lot! The feedback I got on Chapter 6 was so encouraging and made me smile all weekend long. Chapter 7 has us back in the present with Sam and Donna, as promised.

“So I talked to Margaret again today,” Donna told Sam, using her chopsticks to dig around in her box of kung pao chicken. It had been a long day and she'd already kicked off her shoes and folded one leg up under her on Sam's ultra-comfortable couch. Somehow over the last few months, planned visits to Sam's house had turned into just coming over a few times a week, whenever she wasn't busy with school or he wasn't out on a date. Her own apartment was small and, she hated to admit, kind of depressing despite the lack of stairs or roommate. She'd considered getting some cats of her own, but visiting Sam just seemed a lot easier.

“Is she still upset about the stamps thing?” Sam asked absently from the other side of the couch as he worked his way through an eggroll and the parts of the newspaper he hadn't had a chance to look at that morning. 

“No, that was last week, she's done with philately for now,” Donna replied, then kicked him with her toes when he raised an eyebrow. “Apparently we almost went to war with Canada the other day and she was very upset. Her family is from Canada, and I was almost Canadian once, so she was hoping I could sympathize.” 

“You probably should,” Sam pointed out, “didn't Canada annex your hometown?” 

“It was all very peaceable, I'm told,” Donna retorted dryly. “And we moved to Wisconsin when I was four, so my roots in Warroad don't go too deep anyway. Don't you want to know why we almost went to war with Canada?” 

“Actually, I think I'll feel better about our military leaders if you don't tell me,” Sam replied, turning his attention back to the paper. “There's a DNC fundraiser for the local races on Saturday night. I'm taking Kinley, it'll be our first political thing together.” 

“That'll be nice,” Donna decided. “She'll have a chance to get her feet wet before the circus comes to town. Or at least before they start throwing fundraisers in town.” Hoynes and Russell had already made brief campaign stops in Los Angeles, but with the primary still several weeks out, all the campaigns were busy. “She looking forward to it?” 

Sam made a seesawing gesture with his hand. “She's been to fundraisers before, she knows how it goes. But she does like the idea of being able to bend some ears about the need for more pro bono criminal defense work from prominent members of the bar, so that's something.” His smile was a little sheepish. “We're both political animals, I guess. You should come too, I can introduce you to some of the local movers and shakers in the party.” 

Donna mulled over that idea. “How much per plate?” 

“Five hundred, but don't worry about it. I'm paying for a table anyway,” he told her with an absent wave of his hand. 

“You really do want them to like you,” she teased. “Well then, I'd be happy to come. I doubt anybody's going to be too impressed to meet me, but it'll be good to get the lay of the land. And out on this coast, people haven't seen all my formal dresses a hundred times.” 

Sam put down his paper and picked up a box of fried rice. “If you wanted,” he began with all the caution of a man dipping his toes into lava, “you'd be welcome to bring a date. I have three more empty chairs, so it'd be no problem.” 

Donna favored Sam with her absolute blandest give-nothing-away look. “Are you fishing, or are you trying to set me up?” 

He put his free hand in the air, chopsticks pointing towards the sky. “Neither, neither!” he claimed, all wounded innocence. “I just didn't want you to feel like you had to go stag if there were someone you wanted to go with.” Donna didn't say anything, just let the silence lengthen. Sam cracked like an egg. “And I may have heard a rumor that Jeff Brubacher in Acquisitions asked you to dinner.” 

She grinned suddenly, letting him off the hook. “Ha, I knew it. You can't trust gossip, Sam.” 

“He didn't ask you out?” 

“No, he did.” Her smile slipped a little. “He seems nice. He's attractive, and I know he has a good job.” Sighing, Donna stabbed a piece of chicken with unnecessary force, impaling it on her chopstick. “I'm not ready,” she admitted. 

It had been flattering to be asked on a date, something that hadn't happened much in the past year or so, and she'd easily been able to envision herself dressing up and enjoying a nice evening out with dinner and conversation. But her stomach had twisted into knots at the thought, for all sorts of reasons. Even if Jeff was in a completely different section, starting something with anybody at work was a complication Donna was deeply wary of. And if things were good, and a second date was also good, maybe a third... well, there was a reason she didn't wear sheer hose or camisole tops anymore. Vitamin E cream only went so far, and she wasn't sure there was any foundation on earth that could successfully conceal Patchwork Donna. 

But it was more than that, more than the nerves and the scars. She wasn't really that shallow, and she liked to think she wouldn't get serious with a guy who was. But she'd come to California to find herself, make her own way, not to let her desire to be coupled drown out her own small self-worth. (And yes, that phrase had stuck with her long after she'd forgiven Josh for saying it in the first place, and yes, it had started to feel positively ironic after awhile.) It wasn't as though she were giving up on men forever, just finding out who she was on her own. 

Sam studied her for a moment. “Nothing wrong with that,” he said finally, his voice purposefully light. “You'll probably get hit on a few times, attending single, but you know how to deflect.” 

“I am a Jedi master of pass deflection,” she agreed, smiling again and eating the chicken she'd stabbed. “The trick is to do it in such a way that they'll still support your guy in the election. We used to come up with strategies over lunch in the Mess.” 

That got Sam's attention. “You did? You and the other assistants, you had actual strategies for that sort of thing?” 

“Of course,” Donna said blithely. “CJ helped too, she had more experience than any of us, plus the entire press corps trying to chase her down. She has evasion strategies the CIA can only dream of.” Her tone was frankly admiring. “We made contingency plans, worked out signals so we could rescue each other, passed along tips about who to avoid, all the important stuff.” 

Sam's eyes were wide by now. “That's a lot of effort to expend in the service of not getting hit on at a party. Were they really such meat grinders?” He tried to think back, but other than that painfully embarrassing dinner with Laurie and the one where Josh had spilled an entire flute of champagne onto CJ's dress, they all tended to blend together in a mass of hors d'oeuvres and duty dances. He'd always been more interested in the speeches. 

She picked up a cheese wonton and gestured with it. “One time Ainsley Hayes and I switched dresses in the middle of a state dinner so she could get away from Lord John Marbury after he'd followed her around for like forty-five minutes. I just went out in her dress and hung around with Josh, and the next time Lord John came up to me, he actually apologized for not realizing who I was before. He was pretty drunk at the time,” she recalled with a laugh. “But then Will Bailey went up to Ainsley and started talking with her for five minutes about the financial research I'd been doing for him. He's shy with women so he tends to look mostly at skirts and shoes when he talks. She finally had to get his attention, and he was so mortified she didn't even tease him about it, just kissed him on the forehead and sent him on his way. He hid in his office for a full week after that.” 

Even though Donna was obviously amused by the memory, Sam found himself vaguely disquieted. His own track record was a feminist wasn't entirely spotless, but he liked to think he was improving, or at least getting more observant. “You shouldn't have had to hold summit meetings about not being harassed at high-level government functions,” he declared. “We're Democrats, for god's sake.” 

“Nothing really bad ever happened,” Donna assured him, giving him a head-cocked look of curiosity. “And it's not like the guys didn't get it too. Remember Sarah Wissinger?” 

“I don't think anyone who lived through the Summer of Sarah will forget Sarah Wissinger,” Sam allowed, steepling his fingers and putting his tongue in his cheek. “She was a young woman with a profound interest in the art of governing, especially as practiced in the office of the Deputy Chief of Staff.” 

“A profound interest in something, that's for sure,” Donna echoed. “That was the summer of both Mandy and Sarah, in fact, and I feel confident today that I will never become an alcoholic, because if it were going to happen, it would've happened then. Don't tell me you and he didn't cook up a few strategies for avoidance yourselves. All the 'smoke breaks' where you left me and Cathy holding the bag for you?”

Sam had the grace to blush just a little. “Her parents were important donors,” he insisted. “And she was barely twenty-one, it was just a crush. There was no reason to hurt her feelings when it was just as easy to be absent.” He smirked. “Plus it got Josh that amazing smoking jacket and the, what was it, filigreed cigarette case?” 

“Scrimshaw cigarette holder.” By now Donna was smirking as well. “Apparently made of real ivory. I told him he should go ahead and take up smoking, he'd look like Marlene Dietrich. I think he wound up selling it sometime on the campaign so it wouldn't turn up in a DC antique shop.” 

“God, that was funny.” Sam shook his head, his smile mellowing into nostalgia. “We really had no idea what we were doing that whole first year, but I don't think I've ever felt so energized in my life. We had so many plans to change the world. I just want to feel like that again.” 

Donna reached out and rubbed his arm. “We'll get back there,” she promised him. “We'll get back, knowing everything we know now, and we'll do all of it right from the beginning. It's going to be amazing.” She was quiet for a moment, both of them letting that knowledge sink in. “And the first step is me sitting down with your girlfriend and working out some signals for this dinner. Strategy is important, Sam,” she quipped. 

“This was all just a ploy to make me introduce you to Kinley, wasn't it.” He gave her the hairy eyeball, but his heart wasn't in it. 

“Trained political operative,” Donna reminded him. “With strategies. She sounds great, and I want to meet her. All you have to do is give me her number.” 

“We'll all meet up for lunch,” he promised instead. “If you're going to be coming up with plans to rescue each other from tedious conversations, I want in on it, too.” 

“All right, fine, we'll make you an honorary member of the Sisterhood.” She laughed at his expression. “Sacrifices have to be made, Sam. Be grateful we're only asking for your dignity.” He just sighed at that and stole her chicken.


	8. If I Didn't Tell Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took a little longer than the last couple (see previous note re: buried in kittens), but if it's any consolation, this one is almost double my usual chapter length! Feedback makes me very, very happy, thank you to everyone who has commented and given kudos so far! This chapter continues our oh-so-gradual AU slide and takes place right around the time of "La Palabra."

It was just a fundraiser, Donna reminded herself firmly as she stared into her mirror and tried to calm her racing pulse. She'd been to dozens, maybe hundreds of the things before, and they were all mostly the same. Meetings with important people, half-listening to boring conversations while she invented mnemonic devices in her head to let her remember names and details for later. She was actually very good at fundraisers, most of the time. This fundraiser was different though, she acknowledged to Donna-in-the-mirror. She wasn't going to this one as Josh Lyman's assistant, or as a member of the campaign staff, or a nameless secretary. She was going as Donna Moss, Sam Seaborn's friend from Washington DC, and she was going to network on her own behalf for the very first time. 

“And it's about time,” she told her mirror image firmly, adding one extra swipe of lipstick and giving herself a toothy smile. She knew she looked good tonight, the classic little navy blue dress accentuating her eyes and making the paleness of her skin an asset instead of a fashion disaster. It had been her favorite back in DC, and out here on the West Coast, it might as well have been new. Now that she was making actual money in the private sector, she could afford to get herself a few new dresses, but it never hurt to be frugal. She'd pinned her hair up and away from her face, and wondered for a minute if it made her look too young. Maybe she should get a haircut, something more career-forward, something with bangs. For tonight it was good enough though, so she tucked her phone, keys, compact and business cards into her tiny clutch purse and deliberately did not look back as she left the house. 

Donna had tried to ride the subway in formalwear exactly once, back in DC when she'd had no money whatsoever and a far less cautious attitude about life. It had resulted in an expensive dry-cleaning bill and a valuable lesson in when to suck it up and spring for a cab. Tonight's cab got stuck in traffic, which was practically a requirement, but she managed to arrive at the hotel in time to catch up with Kinley in the lobby. Sam's attorney girlfriend was easy to spot, she was almost CJ-tall (though without the fondness for three-inch heels), with short, dark hair. She looked, Donna thought privately, a little like what Sam might look like as a woman, and that was no insult. Sam was the prettiest man she knew, and Kinley was incredibly striking in her burgundy evening gown. 

“Donna!” Kinley called, waving an arm from across the lobby. They met up in the middle, next to an ostentatiously large ornamental fountain. “Sam got caught up in a last-minute conference call, but he's on his way. He said we should go on in.” 

“I told him to take his tux to work with him,” Donna said, shaking her head. “He always thinks he's going to get done early.” 

“Even when he does get done early, he always seems to find something else to do,” Kinley agreed with a laugh. “I think he misses the White House schedule.”

“Once you've had a taste of the ninety-hour workweek life, there's no going back,” Donna agreed, deadpan. “Are you ready for this?” 

“I'm guessing it's too late to say no,” Kinley answered ruefully as they made their way towards the ballroom. “But hey, we've got strategies. And it's only one evening of my life.” 

“Could be the first of many,” Donna reminded her, then wondered to herself why she did that. There was no need to make things any harder. “Um, I mean, you've got some ideas in mind too, right? The pro bono attorneys?” 

Kinley was still smiling as they entered the ballroom, but it was a little strained. “That was Sam's suggestion. And it's not a bad idea, but it's still not my cup of tea. I'd much rather buttonhole somebody in the courthouse than while wearing an evening gown and trying to remember the names of Congressmen.” She accepted the flute of champagne Donna snagged from a tray, raised her glass in a half-toast. “Politics is important business, but I'm hoping Sam remembers how nice it is just to be a lawyer.” 

For the life of her, Donna couldn't think of a thing to say. “You sound just like Lisa” would've been decidedly impolitic. She wondered if it were some latent masochistic tendency in Sam that drew him to beautiful women who had no interest in his passion, or if it just never crossed his mind to ask, continually assuming that everyone felt the same way he did about changing the world through politics. Instead of replying, she raised her glass as well and feigned a sip as she looked around the room, picking out the local politicians and trying to identify their assorted hangers-on. A surprisingly familiar face caught her eye. “Just a moment,” she told Kinley, “I'm going to go mingle.” 

Slipping expertly through the gathered throngs, Donna made her way to the other side of the room, where a knot was just dispersing. “Will Bailey,” she called with a smile, “look at you, back in your home territory.” 

Will looked startled and wide-eyed for a moment, like a meerkat catching sight of an approaching jackal, then relaxed fractionally when he recognized her. “Donna Moss,” he replied cheerfully. “I heard you'd sailed for sunnier shores. I wasn't expecting to see you here tonight, though.”

“Same goes,” she replied. “I thought the campaigns weren't swinging through till next week. Are you doing your own advance work now?” 

He rolled his eyes. “I have a team for that, but they need permission slips and lanyards with my name and phone number before they're allowed to fly by themselves.” When she laughed, he grinned as well. “A friend in Orange County is getting married this weekend and I'm one of the groomsmen. I'm mixing business with pleasure so I can justify it to myself and the VP. I flew in this afternoon and I'll be gone again tomorrow night as soon as the rice is thrown.” 

“That's a tough schedule,” Donna observed sympathetically. Will looked even more tired in person than he had on television, though he was making a game effort to appear chipper. “I saw you hired on a press spokesman, have you lined up a deputy yet?” In Donna's private opinion, the Russell spokesman was a bit of a dead fish, a tall, nearly emaciated man with perhaps one-tenth of CJ's charm and none of her rapport with the press. According to Ginger, he was Bingo Bob's brother-in-law from Colorado. It was still probably better, she thought deep in her heart, than actually letting the Vice President interact with the press any more than necessary. 

“Tougher than you know, I've got a bachelor party after this,” Will confided. “I'm hoping that if I fall asleep at the bar, they'll just think I'm drunk.” He lifted his glass, but like Donna, he was too experienced to take more than a scant sip. “I've done some interviews for the deputy position,” he began, naturally cagey even with a friend. “Haven't really found the one who's really going to click with the campaign and actually has some experience with campaigning. Damn those eight-year Democratic incumbents,” he joked halfheartedly. “I don't suppose I could lure you away to the tantalizing world of the campaign trail? You know you'd be good.” 

Donna flushed a little, flattered in spite of herself. “That's very nice of you to say,” she demurred, “but I love the job I have right now. I needed to step away from the pace and the pressure for awhile.” 

Will nodded. “I wasn't there long, but I think you may have had the hardest job in the entire building, except possibly the President on really bad days. I honestly didn't foresee you leaving before Josh, but I guess it was a good time, since he was heading out as well-” Something about the look on Donna's face must have convinced him that this was not a good topic of conversation. “Anyway, if anybody deserves to be getting actual money and sleep in the private sector, it's you,” he offered with a half-laugh, “but you can't blame me for trying.” 

“Thanks for the offer,” she told him sincerely. “You guys are running a good race, try and remember to take care of yourself. And enjoy the wedding.” She let him drift away then, absorbed for a few moments in wondering what people back in DC really thought about her leaving. Most of them probably didn't think anything, she reminded herself, and the people who mattered, like CJ and her friends among the assistants, they all understood, maybe even more than she was comfortable with. Will had just been trying to make awkward conversation, and at least he hadn't called her Ainsley. 

Donna mingled a little, touched base with Kinley mostly to make sure that the woman wasn't thinking about bolting, and was just considering the canapes table when a faint ripple went through the room. She looked up and was unsurprised to see Sam walking in, smiling to all and sundry while he went and found his girlfriend. A failed congressional candidate, no current campaign, and he could still work a room like nobody's business. Donna smiled into her champagne flute. If Bingo Bob could do half so well, she suspected that Will would look a lot less harried these days. She wondered idly what Matt Santos would be like in person, and thought momentarily about seeing how difficult it would be to arrange to see him in LA, but quickly nixed that idea. There was nothing in that world for her right now, she reminded herself firmly. 

Making the rounds of the room with Sam took ages, but it was time well spent, at least in Donna's book. She very much liked being introduced as Sam's colleague from the White House, and carefully tucked names and information away in her brain for later. Once she was actually in the middle of things, the nerves disappeared like magic. She was absolutely sure she could be good at this. 

******

“I don't see why all three candidates haven't just come out and said 'no, this is wrong!' We're Democrats, for god's sake!” This was fast becoming one of Sam's most familiar refrains during the primary season. “It's short-sighted and dangerous, it's going to be expensive to enforce, and it has nasty smears of racism all over it.” 

“It's popular with voters,” Donna reminded him, shoving a cushion behind her back and cozying up in the corner of his couch. “Even Democratic ones. They see it as the thin end of a wedge, rather than as a way to get some sort of accountability for all drivers. None of the candidates want to touch anything so divisive.” 

“The candidates should be opinion leaders, not followers,” Kinley insisted from the opposite end of the couch, gesturing emphatically with her coffee mug. “If they can't get out ahead of an issue, what good are they? And where the hell is Santos on this?” 

“Santos can't touch this with a ten-foot pole or he marginalizes himself as an ethnic-group candidate,” Donna retorted. “Russell's trying to position himself as tough on crime, which is pretty ridiculous but also means he'll probably have to come out in favor of the bill. And Hoynes already has the governor's endorsement, he just has to avoid saying anything for the next few days and he's fine.” Donna was not entirely sure what Sam's plan had been in inviting her over on an evening when he was spending time with Kinley already, but it was undeniably a little awkward. At least watching the news and talking politics was safe ground she understood. 

“Maybe Santos should be marginalizing himself at this point,” Sam suggested, waving a hand at the screen, where Matt Santos and his wife were posing with beaming schoolchildren. “He's all but out of the race already. Hoynes and Russell will split the pie on Super Tuesday and Santos will clean up the scraps. He's got to know there's no path to victory here, he should be pushing his issues as hard as he can!” 

“If there's no path to victory, why is he even still campaigning?” Kinley asked. “That's a lot of work for no reward.” 

“Because Josh Lyman is a stubborn son of a bitch who never knows when it's time to stop campaigning and start actually believing in something,” Sam stated, his voice bitter and flat. Kinley turned to look at him, surprise evident in her face over his very un-Samlike reaction. 

“Kingmaking,” Donna said quietly, the word intruding on the moment of building tension. “Russell and Hoynes are going to split Super Tuesday, and they're going to split everything else as well. They could easily end up in a situation where neither one of them picks up enough delegates to seal the convention on their own, and nobody wants them slugging it out on live television on the floor. If Santos can pick up even a few hundred more delegates, then he's the one who gets to choose. Whoever he throws his delegates to will win. It's not the presidency, but it's a lot of power.” 

“Sounds risky,” Kinley commented slowly, her eyes still on Sam. “Those campaigns aren't cheap, and a lot could happen to give one of those guys a win.” 

“It is risky,” Sam agreed, more thoughtful now. “But it could make Santos vice-president, if that's what he wants. Or he could get a pledge that the candidate he endorses will take up his education plan or his stance on health care.” 

“And if the Democrats lose this election, Santos will be the first face the party looks for in 2010 when primary season rolls around again,” Donna added. “They could think it's worth a shot.” 

“Oh, here comes Russell's spokesman to talk about the drivers' license bill,” Kinley pointed to the television. “I love him, his eyeballs never move when he talks. Just barrels right down that CSPAN camera like it's gonna blink first.” She settled herself in more comfortably on the couch, her feet in Sam's lap. “We should make a drinking game for him.” 

“I like to imagine that Will is standing behind the camera with a hand puppet or something,” Donna quipped, turning her attention to the screen as well. “What do you think, one sip every time he talks about “the other candidate” without naming any names, two sips for every time he grabs hold of the microphone, three sips when he tries to intimidate the press?” 

“You are both terrible people,” Sam told them, relaxing back into the couch cushions. “Finish the drink if he slips and calls him Bingo Bob on-camera.” 

“If he does that I'll send him a bottle of wine,” Donna promised. “Or send one to Will, he'll probably need it more. This is what happens when you hire relatives of the candidate for your senior staff. Here we go, 'the other candidates' lack the courage to support a law protecting the safety of Californians.” 

“One sip,” Kinley agreed. “Blah, blah, blah, oops, blink, come on Jason ol' buddy, you can get it back. Look at the puppet, there's a good boy, now say cheese...” 

Both Donna and Sam were laughing helplessly by the time Kinley finished her narration, coincidentally around the time Bingo Bob's beleaguered spokesman was ready to start taking questions. That was Donna's favorite part, she knew enough of the reporters just enough to hazard guesses as to who would ask what. The first one was easy enough, a question about the California schedule, but then he called on Alex from the Dallas Morning News, who Donna knew a little bit. “Here comes the question about the bill,” Donna predicted. 

“Jason, you said that the driver's license bill is going to promote safety for California drivers. How exactly does the bill do anything to promote safety?” Alex asked very mildly. The other reporters all looked very interested, and Donna would've bet money they were already preparing follow-ups. 

“Well, ah, Adam, the Vice President believes it is important for us to know who exactly we have driving on our roads, and that all our drivers are legal drivers. Licenses are used for many purposes, obviously, and we don't want illegal immigrants using their licenses to vote, for instance, or acquire guns,” Jason replied, halting at first, but smoothing out as he went. 

“But what about on the roads themselves?” Alex pressed before the other reporters could cut in. “Wouldn't licensing all drivers make the roads safer?” 

“Not at all,” Jason replied, looking more confident now. “Illegal immigrants should not be driving on our roads at all, and giving them licenses will only make it worse. Look down in Texas, Arizona and Southern California where you have thousands of Mexican and Latino workers driving. They aren't good drivers, they don't have education, and giving them licenses isn't going to make them good drivers.” 

The press conference went silent, as did Sam's living room. “Did he really just say that?” Sam asked, blinking at the screen. 

“Wow,” was all Kinley could say. “Maybe Bingo Bob should just stay in New York this week.” 

“I think I'm going to send Will that bottle of wine,” Donna decided. 

“Make it scotch,” advised Sam. Donna just nodded.


	9. I Could Leave Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit shorter than average, but it's been a very busy week. I got bitten by a plot bunny and had to churn out a one-part short story (Buffy/West Wing crossover, it's called Tikkun Olam if anyone is interested!) and then spent the rest of my time doing round-the-clock care for sick kittens. Unfortunately two of them did not make it, but the other two seem to be turning the corner. I hope you enjoy the chapter, the next one will probably be a little bit longer!

Sam dropped by Donna's office just before lunchtime, looking slightly less perfectly put-together than usual. Not bad, just a few wrinkles in the suit jacket and slightly mussed hair, but if they'd been back in DC, Donna would've assumed he'd slept on Toby's couch again. “So, the primary,” he began, rubbing his hands together. “Big day. You go out and vote yet?” 

“Of course,” Donna glanced his way, then went back to the paragraph she was finishing up. “You?” 

“First thing this morning.” He displayed the “I voted!” sticker on his lapel. “And you're sure you voted in the Democratic Primary and everything, right?” he added, faux-solicitously. 

“You're a mean person and I hate you,” Donna replied evenly, not looking away from her computer. 

“How about I take you out to lunch and make it up to you?” he suggested, leaning against her doorframe and almost immediately straightening up again.

Donna finally looked up, furrowing her brow as she studied him. “Is something wrong?” she asked, rising from her chair to come around and lean on the edge of her desk. “You seem... twitchy.” 

Sam shrugged, but couldn't maintain the facade of indifference. “It's the primary,” he said again. “The campaigns are blanketing the state,” he began. 

“Except Russell,” Donna added. After the disastrous press conference four days ago, Russell's campaign had all but run up the white flag in California, concentrating on states they still had a prayer of winning. The gaffe had given Hoynes and Santos all the political cover they'd needed to come out against the bill, and the governor had vetoed it post-haste, so perhaps something good had come from the whole business, Donna figured. It still made her feel a little bad to turn on the television and see Will Bailey's increasingly hunted expression as he tried to handle the press himself. He might have made a decent spokesman, if he weren't neck deep and sinking in the process story himself. 

“Not Russell,” Sam agreed, “but Hoynes is, and Santos. The Santos campaign is going to be spending the night in LA to see the results come in. “I thought maybe we could go over to their hotel and say hello after things die down a little.” 

“Come in and shut the door,” Donna told him, her voice weary. She hoped like hell that her face wasn't betraying the way her stomach churned at the idea. As soon as the door was closed, she slid off her desk to her feet. “You should definitely go see him if you want to. He'll be happy to see you again.” 

Sam studied her, cocking his head as though it would help him figure her out. “You should come too,” he finally said. “You need closure.” 

“I do not need closure,” she retorted immediately. “I quit my job and moved across the country, it's closed enough.” 

“You never said goodbye,” he pointed out. “You said he didn't believe you were leaving and he just walked away.” 

“That's a different kind of closure, but it works fine,” she told him curtly. 

“Donna...”

“He isn't going to want to see me, Sam,” Donna snapped. “You know he won't.” She rubbed her hands over her face, disordering her new haircut. “I had a whole plan worked out, how we were going to sit down and talk and I would explain everything, how much I appreciated him and everything he did for me but I needed a chance to develop professionally outside the White House, and then if he pushed maybe I would tell him that I needed to scale back on hours and stress so I'd have time for therapy and school, but that it wasn't about him and we could still be... still be something.” She realized she was babbling and suddenly perilously close to tears. “But anyway, none of that happened, and it's too late now, and if he's mad at me that's his own damn fault and I don't get paid to let him yell at me anymore.” 

“Donna,” Sam said again, his voice softer. He opened his arms and suddenly she was clinging to him, her face buried in his shoulder. “You don't have to go if you don't want to. But you don't have to let him yell at you, either.”

“God, I feel so stupid,” Donna muttered, pulling back enough to wipe under her eyes with the sides of her fingers. “All this time and I didn't cry once, so of course the perfect time to break down is at work.” 

“Yeah, that was my bad,” Sam admitted with a small smile. “But in my own defense, I did offer to take you to lunch first.” 

“Yes, because a restaurant would've been so much better.” 

“My options were limited.” He shrugged and gave her a light kiss on the forehead as she pulled away and gathered herself. “You okay?” 

She nodded. “I guess I needed to get that off my chest. It's almost funny.” She walked around behind her desk, hoping the authoritative position would help her finish shoring herself up. “I really did plan it, you know. I stood in front of my mirror and rehearsed and everything, and all the time I should've known there's no way he'd ever have let me get through saying everything I wanted. I just didn't even get a chance to start.” 

Sam sat down in her visitor chair, stretching out his legs and making himself comfortable. “It really isn't too late,” he told her. “But you have to be the one to reach out, because you know he's never going to do it. I'm not saying you need to have the heart-to-heart talk right now, but the longer you go without talking, the harder it will be when you do.” 

Donna sat down as well and forced herself to consider the situation tactically. “They're going to be slammed until all the results come in,” she mused, “with maybe a few breaks here and there for tabulation. California's going to come in late and last. A quick hello around six, as the polls are closing but before any results?” 

“We could bring food,” Sam suggested, “ensure our welcome. I imagine Josh hasn't eaten anything today.”

“Or anything good for him in the past month,” Donna agreed dolefully. “Order a party sub, that's in the neighborhood of healthy at least. We go in, we feed the masses, we say hello to Josh, maybe you get a chance to shake hands with the candidate, and then we're gone.” She took a deep breath and released it, feeling better for having a strategy. Sam was right, it was time to stop repressing and start moving on. Taking baby steps to get there was okay. She took an arch look at Sam's indolent posture. “Don't you have some work you could be doing?” 

“I'm supposed to be going out to lunch,” he reminded her with a grin. “You are no respecter of taking time off from work.” He yelped and ducked the granola bar she lobbed at his head. “Hey! Just for that, I'm not bringing you back a fortune cookie.” 

“Yes you are,” she told him serenely. “It bothers you too much to have two fortune cookies.” 

“I'm going to pick out a bad one for you,” he insisted. “A misfortune cookie.” 

“I'm not scared of you.” Donna grinned and turned back to her computer. “Do your worst.” 

“I'm serious,” he insisted as he rose from his chair and opened her office door. “Just wait, you're going to meet a short, light, and ugly stranger and you'll have only yourself to blame!” He loped off cheerfully down the hall, leaving Donna to laugh to herself and look up sub shops in the yellow pages.


	10. All The Leaves Are Brown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took longer to get out than I planned! Unfortunately it turns out that my litter of kittens contracted panleukopenia while they were in the shelter, a disease that is pretty much invariably fatal in young kittens (think cat parvo). The remaining two had to be euthanized to end their suffering, and I have been very sad for the past few days and not writing much. But here is Chapter 10, and I hope to get another one out within the next week or so. Thanks for reading and for all the feedback, your comments are pretty much the only thing that keeps me going.

The Santos Campaign's Los Angeles contingent was set up on the tenth floor of a Marriott hotel on the West Side, a setup so familiar that Sam wasn't sure he hadn't stayed at this exact hotel on one of the Bartlet For America campaigns. It certainly looked familiar, everything from the generic lobby to the smell of hotel soap and faint cigarette smoke, to the bar full of exhausted volunteers psyching themselves up for another six hours work. If his arms hadn't been full of three trays of sandwiches (party subs apparently required both 24 hours notice and a car with at least six feet of trunk), he might have gone over and chatted with a few of them. 

Beside him, Donna shifted her trays of cookies and fruit so she could hit the elevator button. “No place like home, huh?” she quipped. “I half-expected to see Toby sitting over there working on a speech.” 

“I guess one campaign looks pretty much like another,” he agreed “Hard to believe it's only been three and a half years since we were doing this.” 

She nodded as they dodged a knot of tourists and stepped into the elevator. “I feel like I ought to have twenty pages of exit poll data in my hands and five hundred milligrams of caffeine in my veins.” 

“Do you miss it?” he asked. 

She hesitated. “Maybe a little. Mostly the adrenaline when everything is moving fast and it's all clicking together like parts of a machine, you have that feeling of overwhelming purpose...” 

The elevator opened, and they stepped out into a madhouse. Three campaign staffers nearly ran them down while jumping into the elevator, while another half-dozen jammed the elevator lobby, talking on cellphones and scribbling down notes as fast as they could. There was a moment's mad scramble as Sam and Donna hurried to get out of the way, only to be nearly bowled over by another two staffers rushing down the hall and babbling something about traffic in the boroughs. “I think we may have misjudged our timing a little,” Sam observed, speaking louder to be heard over the ruckus. 

“Or something!” Donna agreed loudly. “Something big is going on, they can't be this disorganized on a normal day.” She skillfully dodged a teenage volunteer with a pile of binders and headed towards the bank of suites that was campaign headquarters. 

“Theoretically they could, but they'd have all had heart attacks by South Carolina,” Sam pointed out, following in Donna's wake with his sandwiches held high and out of the way. The first suite they passed was dressed for television appearances, it looked like a fake living room and was lit like a small supernova. A teenage intern was sleeping on the sofa, obligatory ream of papers still clutched in her hands, completely oblivious to the camera crew setting up on the other side of the room. Beyond the set was another room, this one filled with the campaign's press pool. Sam nudged Donna past that one quickly; reporters were like sharks, whether the blood in the water was a story or a sandwich. 

“Donna!” A young woman with short brown hair hurried up to them, looking every bit as harried as anyone else here, and just slightly wild-eyed.“You're Donna, right? I'm Ronna, we talked on the phone earlier? You are Donna, right?” 

“Yes, I'm Donna, it's nice to meet you, Ronna,” Donna said, then paused, a bit flummoxed by the rhyming. “Um... I couldn't get hold of an actual party sub, but I was assured that three trays will feed as many people. And we have cookies, and fruit.” 

“You're a lifesaver,” Ronna said fervently. “I've got people gnawing off their own legs in there.” She grabbed two of Donna's trays and led the way, barreling through the crowd with no concern for life or limb. 

Sam hesitated, trying valiantly not to laugh, but Donna saw right through him. “Shut up,” she muttered, grabbing one of his trays from him. 

“I'm not saying anything,” he murmured back, “I'm just standing here composing a new Dr. Seuss classic.” She made a sound that might have been an actual growl and huffed off after Ronna. “Would a limerick be better?” he asked, trailing after her. “I'd keep it clean!” 

“You're dead to me, Sam Seaborn,” she called over her shoulder. He laughed and trailed after the two women until they reached the master suite's tiny kitchenette, which was piled with the typical campaign assortment of energy drinks and sugar-filled snack cakes. Donna had confessed one late night on the second campaign that during BFA One she had lived for almost two weeks on what she could find in the communal snack areas and while out at night with the other staffers and volunteers. He'd made a joke about courting diabetes, but wondered a little bit if that was partly why she was always concerned about whether people, especially Josh, were eating right out on the trail. 

Ronna set down her trays and popped the lids off, then let out a piercing whistle. “Hey everybody! New York's still gonna be there in five minutes!” she announced in a yell that was quite at odds with her mousy exterior. “This is Sam Seaborn and Donna Moss, they're Josh's friends from California, and they brought us food! So eat it before you all die, okay?” There were a few weak cheers, and a general wave of people coming over to grab sandwiches. 

“What's going on in New York?” Donna asked, pressing herself against the wall with Ronna and Sam to get out of the way. 

“Well you know how Russell basically folded like a cheap pop-tent in any state with a minority population?” Ronna asked with a grin. “Turns out the huge, sucking vacuum he left in New York may just have our name on it. We're running neck and neck with Hoynes, and it's still too close to call. But if we come in first in New York and second in California, we're really in the game!” She gave a happy little squeal and hugged herself. 

“That's amazing,” Sam told her warmly, then waded into the fracas himself to collect two sandwiches on plates, handing one to Ronna. “You don't want to wait to eat, the volunteers will usually lick the platters.” He caught Donna's grin and was relieved. “Do you know where Josh is? I want to make sure he gets one of these, too.” 

Ronna pointed towards the master bedroom are of the suite. “Last I saw he was in there, some meeting with Ma- with the Congressman and the finance director. But they should be out pretty soon, it's been awhile.” She looked away when someone called her name (Donna looked too, and Sam smirked), then said “Excuse me, I've got to go deal with this.” She scurried off, leaving them to make their way across the suite towards the bedroom.

Sam wasn't quite sure whether it would be polite to knock, but he didn't have to make the choice. Just as they walked up, the door burst open like the Kool-Aid man was standing behind it. “I SWEAR TO GOD, if somebody doesn't give me the new numbers RIGHT NOW, I'm going to tear my own head off and throw it at all of you!” Josh's hair, never tidy to begin with, was standing entirely on end, his face grayish with exhaustion except where it was red with the yelling. “RONNA! Where the hell is-” He suddenly noticed who was standing in front of him and stopped, his mouth still open. Emotions played over Josh's face much too quickly for Sam to track, before he settled into his habitual give-nothing-away half-smirk. “Well, look who finally showed up.” 

Donna nipped the sandwich out of Sam's hands a moment before Sam thought to hand it to her, leaving him free to step forward and engulf Josh in a hug. It felt amazingly good to be hugging Josh again, even sweaty, wrung-out Josh whose shoulder blades were too prominent. “You did come all this way,” Sam reminded him, pulling back and trying to cover his own joy and longing with easy humor. “It seemed churlish not to at least come across town and visit you. And Donna went out and voted for a Democrat and everything!” 

Josh's eyes flicked to Donna, and Sam watched them watch each other for a moment before thinking to take the sandwich back. Donna smiled and stepped forward like she would go in for a hug, but hesitated and then stopped when Josh didn't move to meet her. She straightened her spine, held onto her smile, and Sam was proud of her. “You look like hell, Josh,” she told him bluntly. “Don't they ever feed you or let you sleep on this campaign?” 

For a split second, Sam could see a world of pain in Josh's face, but then the cocky smirk came back full-force, and all the real emotion was gone. “Sleep and food are for the weak!” he asserted. “I rely on superhuman stamina and coffee to run this juggernaut.” 

Donna took the sandwich back from Sam and shoved it into Josh's hands. “That superhuman stamina is going to land you in the hospital before the convention if you're not careful,” she chided, her voice light and almost teasing. “I really hope you haven't conned anyone into bringing you coffee.” 

Josh stared at her for a minute, his eyes belying his own teasing tone. “Look around you, Donna. A hundred volunteers, two dozen staff members, any of whom would bring me coffee if I only asked them to, for I rule them with an iron hand.” Someone wandering by made a “pfft” noise at that, but Josh and Donna both ignored him. “I have all the coffee I need.” 

“That's good then.” Donna folded her arms across her chest, then unfolded them and dropped them to her sides. “I'm glad... I'm glad you have everything you need. And now you have dinner.” 

Sam was sure, absolutely sure for a moment that Josh was going to say something, either something honest that would ease the miserable unspoken tension, or something horrible that would snap it completely. Instead, Josh picked up the sandwich. “Yeah, thanks for that. But what I really need are the NEW YORK NUMBERS!” he shouted to the room at large. 

“They're coming right up, boss!” somebody yelled from the bank of televisions near the kitchenette. “CBS looks like they're gonna call!” 

There was a surge of motion towards the televisions as someone turned the volume up to blasting. The entire room hushed long enough to hear the anchor announce that they were calling New York State for Matt Santos, and then exploded into cheers and noise and a renewed frenzy. Sam could see Josh slapping backs and shaking hands automatically, sandwich long forgotten somewhere as he headed off to find his candidate. He turned to Donna, who was gamely celebrating along with a few Santos staffers, any misery expertly concealed. “I get the feeling we might be in the way right now,” he told her ruefully.

“Yeah, let's get out of here,” she agreed, sounding relieved. 

They wended their way through the crush and down to the elevators, past the now-empty press room and all the reporters hurrying to find soundbytes. Sam was a little surprised when he was stopped twice to comment, but he suspected the reporters around here might be a little hard up. “I couldn't be happier for Congressman Santos, he's really done a great job of getting his message out about health care and education. Obviously those are two things people in this country really care about, and I think the win in New York tonight proves it.” By the time they got themselves into the startling quiet of the elevator, he'd noticed Donna was favoring her bad leg, leaning against the wall with a slight grimace. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” she muttered, “A lot of walking and standing today, and an extra-torturous session at therapy yesterday. I think she's convinced I could be Gumby if I just tried a little harder.” 

“I know that's what I dreamed of when I was a kid,” Sam replied affably, hiding the worry he knew she didn't want to see. 

“I thought you wanted to be Jackie Paper,” Donna countered with a faint smile. 

“I had a lot of dreams,” he told her. “And who wouldn't want a dragon? He'd take you flying, and he'd eat all your enemies. Here, let me give you a hand.” He slid an arm around her shoulders as they stepped out of the elevator, taking some of her weight so she could walk easier. She resisted for a moment and he almost let go, but then she sighed and relaxed, nearly slumping against him. “Do you want to sit down?” 

“No, I'm fine,” she insisted, matching him step for step as they headed out to the curb. She was quiet for a moment, then added “but you know, I don't think that talk actually made things any less awkward.” 

Sam sighed. “I'm sorry.” 

“Not your fault,” she assured him with a forced smile. “I don't think he's capable of thinking through human emotions while he's this deep in the campaign. Maybe when it's over.” 

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “After the convention, we should invite him out here for awhile. He needs a vacation more than maybe anybody I've ever met.” Donna nodded against his arm and he squeezed her shoulders lightly. “What do you think, Thai delivery tonight? I feel like peanut noodles.” 

She looked up at him quizzically for a moment, and he expected her to ask about Josh, or Kinley, or about what had just happened tonight. But then she let out a long breath he could feel moving through her chest. “Yeah, that sounds perfect. Let's go.”


	11. Interlude II: Goodbye to People I've Trusted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Labor Day to my US readers, and welcome to the second interlude chapter! I have been sitting on this one and tweaking it for a few days, and wrote another chapter in the meanwhile, so look for that one on Wednesday or Thursday. This chapter is similar to the first interlude in that we depart from the story for a little while to see what Josh has been up to lately, and in that we cover a lot of ground in relatively little space. If you're interested in seeing the way the primaries went AU from the point of divergence, here is my attempt to lay it all out there. Feel free to ask questions in the comments if I left anything unclear or with gaping plot holes. Feedback is welcome, encouraged, and necessary to my continued creativity, thank you so much to all who have commented and left kudos!

It was almost impossible to find any time alone on the campaign trail, especially for the campaign manager. In the early days, he'd been doing the jobs of three people and had spent every waking hour either shepherding his candidate around, harassing the staff, or with a cell phone glued to his ear. As the primaries had picked up speed and donations had started to roll in, he'd been able to delegate some of the scutwork, but that meant people reporting to him, giving him numbers and information, whispering names into his ears and pushing press releases into his hands. On an average day, he'd be awake long before dawn to get the early wires from the media interns, go to bed long after the midnight staff meeting to discuss the next day's events, and in all the hours in between he was surrounded by people and information and a million things to do. It really didn't make sense that he should be so unbearably lonely, but at least he didn't have time to think about it. 

The first weeks of the campaign had been easier. A lack of singleminded focus had never been his problem, and with the biggest challenge of his professional life in front of him, it had been easy to ignore the empty place at his side and the fact that nobody watched him from across the room anymore. If he ever did think about it, the thought was easily dismissed, shoved back into the dark and inconvenient corner of his mind behind thirty years of predictive voting patterns and the retail-politics cut of a new stump speech. And when the guilt crept in, all mixed up between guilt over leaving the White House with the job not done, leaving CJ and Toby in the lurch, dragging the Santos family into something that maybe nobody could ever be ready for, and chasing away the people who meant the most to him in favor of a job he didn't even keep, he could ball it all up and push it aside as well. He could sometimes fight the guilt off with his own anger, find all the ways that he'd been hurt and used and ignored that had driven him to his actions, but usually he didn't have time for that. There was far too much to do. 

He kept in touch with Leo, if with nobody else; Leo kept him sane through those first months on the campaign trail. Josh would call him at odd moments throughout the day when he needed to bounce an idea off someone, or just to hear from somebody who didn't look at him like he was a scary yelling person from Mars. Leo liked to gruffly complain about the calls, but Josh knew his mentor was in a weird in-between place right now as well, no longer chief of staff, no longer allowed to work the way he was used to, still indispensable to the President, but struggling to find his place in the administration. And maybe it still bothered Josh a little bit that Leo hadn't chosen him as his replacement, but he knew why the crafty old politician had done it. He'd been nudging Josh out of the nest, letting CJ shepherd the current administration to a dignified close while Josh went out to find the Next Big Thing. He hoped that was it, anyway, and not Matt Santos' assertion that Josh wasn't built to sit in the big chair and make the trains run on time. If that were the case, if Deputy COS was the highest office he was suited for, Josh wasn't sure he wanted to know. 

At any rate, Josh wouldn't have the opportunity to test his own fitness as chief of staff at all with the rate the campaign was going. He used every trick he knew for running an insurgent campaign, publicity stunts, vocally taking the high road at any opportunity, leveraging his own fame (or notoriety) to garner precious attention from the media. It had been a blow when he hadn't been able to get Hoynes and Russell into the debate in New Hampshire, but they'd pulled it out of the bag at the last minute when the Congressman's impassioned television advertisement made the other candidates look mealymouthed and scared. The alternative debate had been a joke, Matt Santos on a stage with four fringe candidates with platforms so shaky they couldn't have supported a toddler, but the main debate had been even worse. They hadn't won New Hampshire, but at least they'd stayed in the game. 

Staying in the game became the name of the game as the cash-strapped campaign faced the first major hurdle only a week after New Hampshire. The 2006 Democratic primary was unusual in that it had two clumps of primaries, not just the typical Super Tuesday pileup, but another clot right at the beginning of the campaign season. Josh's first inclination would've been to head to South Carolina like the Bartlet campaign had, but instead he'd shelled out the money to move their entire operation to the Southwest, campaigning in Arizona and New Mexico, leaving the other five states to Hoynes and Russell. It was a gamble, and if it didn't pay off, they'd be lucky to have enough money to call it quits and go home. Perhaps that didn't put him in the best frame of mind for the DNC Gala at the White House, but he didn't feel like that excused the icy reception he'd gotten at a place that had recently been far more his home than his townhouse. Being ignored by Toby and handled by CJ and shunned by the President had stung, but it was okay because Josh didn't have time to think about that, not with seven primaries coming up. 

Sleep became an extraneous luxury, and food was anything salty enough to enable him to swallow more coffee. Of course it would be then that Sam called him, sounding so relaxed and happy and so very incredibly Sam that Josh just wanted to crawl into the phone and rest in his voice for a few minutes. But then Sam brought up Donna, and that was a wound that still bled when touched, and Josh really couldn't afford to lose any more blood at the moment. So he let Sam go and fell back into the campaign, letting the waters close over his head and block out anything else. But it paid off, they won Arizona and New Mexico, and even did surprisingly well in Oklahoma. Santos gained national attention by organizing a stealth mission to kill a stem cell bill in the House, and the campaign finally got a proper bus. 

Primary season seemed to take forever, a primary here and a primary there as they ramped up towards Super Tuesday. Josh couldn't believe how well Hoynes was managing to do, despite being an an admitted adulterer who'd shared confidential government secrets as pillow talk. Under any other circumstances, he would've been all over Hoynes, smashing him again and again with those facts until a fickle electorate remembered, but in this campaign, in this primary season, they couldn't afford to be the first to go negative. Russell's counterattacks were tepid at best, possibly because they had about as much bench talent as the average Little League team, and the former Vice-President just got more and more popular. It was shaping up into a two-man race, and Santos was not going to be one of the two men. Then came Bingo Bob and his hapless press spokesman, like manna from heaven, and the race was on again. 

Russell's gaffe opened the field, but the gap was narrow and wouldn't last long; it needed to be exploited immediately. The Santos campaign needed to be in California, but they needed an ad buy in New York's ridiculously inflated market as well. Josh shook the trees as hard as he could, scared up some cash, but it wasn't enough. Santos suggested he take out a mortgage on his house, keep the campaign going that much longer. The offer hit Josh like a slap of reality across the face. All of this work they were doing, all the campaigning, the running, the sleepless nights, what was it all for? They could not possibly win the campaign at this point, not even with Russell down for the moment, not with Hoynes so surprisingly popular with Democrats across the country. He told Matt and Helen not to do it, begged them not to, but when they'd gone ahead and done it anyway, he'd arranged the ad buy himself, then doubled down once again on the work. If they failed, it wasn't going to be because he'd spared himself for one minute, not when all of this was his fault to start with. 

By the time Super Tuesday rolled around, Josh was so tired he could barely remember what day it was, much less what city he was in. His pulse never seemed to stop racing anymore, either from the stress or the caffeine, and he suspected that if he hadn't skipped his six-month appointment with his cardiologist, he'd have gotten a sharp slap upside the head for most of his habits lately. The First Lady had called him once already to harass him about how lousy he looked, which he'd deeply appreciated even as he'd ignored her advice. His actual mother called pretty often as well, and he appreciated that too, but he really couldn't think about his parents during campaigns, not when it made him wonder if he should fly to Florida and check on her, not when Florida wasn't even coming up for another two weeks. The finance guy, whose name he still couldn't remember, came in for another meeting about how they were absolutely not going to make it to Texas unless they had a fantastic showing today, and the exit polls in New York persisted in their infuriating ambiguity, and the polls in California were only just starting to close with no clear victor predicted there either. By the time six pm rolled around, Josh was pretty sure the individual cells of his body were ready to vibrate apart in a million directions. 

Of course it would be then that they would show up in Campaign HQ, right in the middle of the rush and the noise, and for a second Josh felt the intense, almost overwhelming relief of the lost pieces of himself sliding back into place. Donna and Sam were here and everything was safe and fine. He somehow managed to do something with his face, to say words that sounded normal, but then Sam hugged him, and it reminded Josh of all the lines and the rules and the circumstances that weren't going to change that had sent them running away from him to begin with. Sam was okay now, smiling and clear-eyed and optimistic, because he'd gotten out of Josh's orbit and away before Josh had managed to finish crushing all his Samness. Donna was here, beautiful and confident in a way she'd never really been as his assistant, with Sam now because Sam made her feel good and didn't hurt her. The two of them standing in the middle of this exercise in futility were like some kind of exquisite art piece on all the ways that Josh Lyman could destroy peoples' lives. 

So when Donna reached out for him, he didn't reach back, instead holding his ground and trying to ignore the spark of pain in her eyes. She had no right, he reminded himself, she was the one who had left; she'd run away to save herself and left him to burn. He half-expected her to fold, or leave, but instead she started heckling him about his bad habits, just like old times. He bantered a little, blustering as best he could, then made his escape from both of them. The news about New York came in, and he was pathetically grateful. He was going to be so busy now, he'd never have time to think about anything else. 

After the upset win in New York, the campaign was flooded with fresh energy and, more importantly, fresh donations. For a few days, Josh could almost see a way to victory, and it was a heady thing, an overwhelming thing. Overwhelming was good, because there was no possible way he was going to think about California, and the distraction was welcome and necessary. They'd need to carry Florida and Illinois, plus a majority of the remaining states, but if Russell imploded and his delegates could be coaxed away... 

But Will Bailey was nobody's political neophyte, and within days of New York, the Russell spokesman had been replaced, the campaign had repudiated his statement, and Bingo Bob was doing more Hispanic outreach than Santos had done in his whole campaign. It wasn't going to win him the Latino vote, but it reassured white voters that Russell wasn't a racist and it was okay to vote for him. The White House issued a statement affirming their conviction that the Vice President was a fair-minded man who worked hard for every American, and listed a number of minority outreach programs he'd been part of, at least on paper. The politician in Josh understood full well that the statement was necessary; the Vice President was part of the administration and a smear on him hurt everything they were trying to do. The part of Josh that assumed his friends ought to be on his team was pissed as hell. Toby was still being an asshole after barely speaking to Josh on his last visit, so Josh called CJ and yelled at her about it until she stopped trying to explain what he already knew and hung up on him. Leo told him to call back when he was ready to use his brain and be reasonable, which Josh figured would be approximately never at this rate. Sam would've been incensed on his behalf and yelled right along with him, but Josh couldn't call him now. There was too much work to be done.

Within a week of Super Tuesday, Russell had gotten back on an even keel, and though Santos managed to hold onto Florida, when Illinois went to Hoynes, the writing was on the delegate map wall. It wasn't only the Santos campaign doing unpleasant electoral math, though. With three nearly-equal candidates heading into the convention, it was becoming increasingly obvious that no candidate had enough pledged delegates to secure the nomination. As the spring passed (noticeable to Josh mainly in that the sleepless nights were shorter), Arnold Vinick nearly sewed up the Republican nomination, while the Democrats seemed poised for a convention disaster unprecedented in modern political history. By the end of the New Jersey primary, Hoynes had secured 1706 delegates, Russell 1483, and Santos 1133. Matt Santos' presidential aspirations were effectively over, at least for this year. 

Josh took a bottle to bed, made several drunken phone calls he barely remembered in the morning, vomited up some blood to put a nice edge on his hangover, then sat down with the Congressman to discuss strategy. He hadn't been able to make Matt Santos the Democratic nominee, but he had made Matt Santos the man who'd decide who that nominee would be. It certainly wasn't nothing, and Leo had already reminded him what an accomplishment it was to bring a virtually unknown candidate so far in so little time, but Josh couldn't help but weigh that against everything he'd lost and given up, and wonder if it had ever been worth it.


	12. My Very Own Constellation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's Chapter 12, just as promised! I didn't hear much about Chapter 11, so I'm really hoping it was clear and made sense to people. This chapter goes back to California and runs concurrently in time with the end of Chapter 11. Sharp-eyed readers might also note that I ran out of lyrics to California Dreamin', so the chapter titles for Sam and Donna's chapters have a new song now. Thank you to everybody who's been leaving kudos and marking favorite and following this story! I hope you're all having fun reading!

Donna leaned into Sam's office, checking to make sure he didn't have a client before she walked in. “It's gorgeous out today. Let's eat outside.” 

Sam looked up from the brief he was reading and took off his glasses. “It's gorgeous out every day, it's May in Los Angeles.” 

“Yes, but it's been smoggy,” she pointed out impatiently, hefting her cute green lunch bag. “But the thermal inversion has finally dissipated and now we can actually see the sky again. Convective overturning is our friend, Sam.” 

“I see you've been watching the weather channel again,” Sam remarked with a sigh, but set aside his brief. “I'm actually meeting Kinley for lunch today, I need to get moving.” He rose from his chair and put his suit jacket back on.

Donna blinked. “Oh, okay. I didn't really realize that you and she were still, you know...” 

“Oh! Yes, yeah, absolutely,” Sam hastened to assure her. “We've just both been very busy with cases lately. Neither of us are the needy type, we like to have plenty of spaces in our togetherness.” 

Donna schooled her face away from skepticism; it seemed a little too unkind. She and Josh had always gone at it hammer-and-tongs over their respective love lives, but Sam was trying very hard despite the fact that he and Kinley seemed to have little in common. She didn't dislike Kinley, certainly, the woman was smart, well-spoken, attractive, and could be very funny when she let her hair down. But Kinley wasn't interested in politics, only following the primaries so she could keep up with conversations, and she didn't like glad-handing or networking, and Donna was not entirely sure she even liked sailing very much. The few times Donna had spent with them, the talk had mostly been about what was on television or about food. Kinley was very passionate about food, to the point where if she'd been a decade older, Donna would've tried to set her up with Leo. They still wouldn't have had too much in common, but Leo didn't have a lot of spare time anyway, and he loved food more than anybody Donna had ever met. Sam, on the other hand, was the kind of guy whose ideal would be to find one restaurant with the perfect atmosphere and then go there every night forever. 

“Well then,” she said easily, swinging her bag in one hand, “I believe I have a terrible novel calling my name.” She waited for him, then followed him out of his office and down the hall. “Are you going to watch the primary returns tonight?” 

Sam rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said reluctantly. “It's New Jersey, it's the end of the line. Feels like if we've come this far, we can't abandon ship now, even if we know what's going to happen.” At this point, nobody was in doubt about how the primaries would turn out anymore. Even if Santos picked up every one of the 121 delegates still up for grabs (and he wouldn't, not from Russell-happy Montana, nor from cynical New Jersey), it wouldn't put him into the lead. “Are you going to come over?” 

“If you don't mind me sneaking onto your router so I can finish my report for Western Political Theory,” she told him as they passed the reception desk and she pressed the button for the elevator. “I'll bring over pizza and beer.” 

“They really should be giving you extra credit just for following this election cycle,” he mused. “It's gonna be one for the record books, especially if this three-way race goes into the convention. Nobody's got enough delegates to win.” 

“It's not going to happen,” Donna said confidently. “If the candidates don't get it together themselves, Leo or the President will step in. Josh won't let it happen, if it comes to that. He knows what it would do to the party.” They stepped into the empty elevator together, 

Sam's face softened as he gave her a rueful smile. “You still have so much faith in him.” 

Donna shrugged. “So do you. If it were Russell or Hoynes in third place, you'd be bouncing off the walls, telling me what kind of disaster a floor fight at the convention would be.” 

“Maybe I'm just keeping my powder dry,” he offered. “None of our candidates can beat Vinick, not with the way he's been polling with moderates. He's going to wipe the floor with Hoynes and never break a sweat. I can freak out about that any time in the next five months.” 

“Santos could,” Donna countered, looking up at the descending numbers. “Look how far he came with nothing from nowhere in the primary season. With Josh heading the campaign and the national committee's money behind him, he could do it. But it's not going to be this year,” she admitted with a sigh. 

“Nope,” Sam agreed, echoing her sigh as they stepped into the lobby. 

“You two look terribly cheerful,” came a new, teasing voice as Kinley swept up next to them, her cheeks just a little pink from the breezy day. “Did the cable company cancel C-SPAN?” She gave Sam a quick kiss and Donna a quick smile before falling in step with them towards the door. 

“Just the realities of primary politics in an imperfect world,” Sam told her easily. 

“At least it's almost over, right?” Kinley asked. “You'll be done with them after this week?” 

“Last two tonight,” he confirmed. “Do you want to come over? Donna and I are going to watch the returns, just so we can say we did.” 

“We're completionists,” Donna added. 

Kinley gave the both of them a strange look. “No, that's fine,” she demurred. “But I will steal Sam now for our lunch. Nice to see you, Donna!” She gave Donna a finger wave, then linked her arm through Sam's and headed off with him out the lobby doors. Donna watched them go, nibbling on her lower lip with concern, and wondered whether Kinley would be around by the convention. 

…......

“So I guess that's it, then.” Sam slumped back into the embrace of the couch, the movement smooth enough not to dislodge Donna from where she was half-dozing against his shoulder. “I can't believe Hoynes is winning. How do people not remember he's human slime?” 

“The electorate is fickle,” Donna counseled in a wise mumble. “And I'm pretty sure everything is legal in New Jersey. Santos did well, he peeled off some delegates.” 

“That almost makes it worse,” Sam groused. “Hoynes and Santos are both beating Russell when it comes to momentum, but Santos is in no position to take the nomination himself. So we've got the sleazeball or the guy who's effectively the third place finisher to choose from. Not a bright day for Democratic politics.” 

“We could vote for Vinick,” Donna suggested with a sardonic smile.

“I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave now,” Sam told her with a valiant attempt at deadpan. “Or at least go outside, turn around and spit.” 

She smacked his arm lightly, then rubbed it to show she didn't mean it. “That's unsanitary. Everybody knows it's throwing salt over your shoulder. But honestly, if it comes down to Hoynes or Vinick?”

“Or Russell or Vinick,” Sam added glumly. 

“Not a lot of people are quite as loyal as we are to the party.” 

“You voted for Governor Ritchie.” 

“Have I mentioned lately that you're a terrible person?” 

“Yes, but sometimes I forget.” She made an aggravated noise, and he laughed and put an arm around her shoulders. Donna realized that their position could easily be construed as more than it was, cuddled up on the couch together in the evening, her computer set aside, the remains of dinner still on the coffee table. And Sam was a very good-looking man, and he could be incredibly charming when he didn't fall all over himself with the social clumsiness that only his very close friends might describe as endearing. But he was already dating Kinley, and she wasn't ready for anything with anybody, and maybe if she were a little more pragmatic she'd sit up and scoot to the other end of the couch, but she was much more comfortable than pragmatic at the moment. 

With the primary results in, the news was divided between on-the-scene reporters seeking comments from anybody they could pin down, and pundits asking most of the same questions that Donna and Sam had. Santos made an appearance around eleven local time, thanking his supporters and once again touting the need for education reforms. Donna thought he looked tired, though he hid it well. She looked for Josh throughout the entire evening, but didn't catch sight of him even once. “Do you think we should call?” she asked Sam as the political reporting wrapped up for the evening. 

“I'm not sure,” Sam admitted. “He shouldn't be alone, but I'm sure he's got friends on the campaign. They're probably all drinking away the sorrows tonight. Anyway, I don't want to make the condolence call if he's not ready to concede yet.” 

“Yeah, that wouldn't go over well,” she agreed. “I'll call Margaret tomorrow, see what the gossip is on where Santos is going from here. I'm sure somebody at the White House is going to be putting a hand in soon. She'll be going on maternity leave any day now and I'll lose my best source.” 

Sam did a double-take. “Margaret's pregnant? How did that happen?” Donna gave him an eloquent look that had him backtracking hastily. “I mean obviously... but that's really nice for her. I should send her a present.” 

“She's registered at Babies 'R Us,” Donna told him, mollified. “I wanted to go out for the baby shower, but it's just such a long trip. I promised I'll come out in June after she's born to pay my respects. It'll be nice to get back to DC for a weekend, I think. I miss it.” 

He gave her a raised-eyebrow look. “You're not thinking of moving back, are you? I just got used to having you around.” He said it jokingly, but she could see truth in his eyes. 

“Not even a little bit,” she reassured him with a laugh. “I miss my friends in Washington, and all the good takeout near my apartment, and every once in awhile I miss being part of the action. But I was so unhappy there by the end, for a lot of reasons, and I wouldn't want to go back to any of that. Besides, I'm finally starting to get a tan.” She held up one arm, which was looking decidedly more freckled than tan, but she still had high hopes. “I've got a job, and school, and I'm actually doing my physical and mental therapy. I'm starting to feel like me again.” She turned to look at him, gave him a smile. “And hanging around with you isn't too bad, either.” 

“Damned with faint praise,” Sam complained good-naturedly, “by a woman who's taken over my internet connection and ninety percent of the real estate on my couch.”

“I brought you dinner,” she pointed out. “And I just watched three hours of election returns with you so you didn't have to watch them alone like a sad, lonely man.” 

He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Can't really go out to a sports bar and watch primary results roll in.” 

“And that,” she told him with a laugh, “is what I miss about DC.” 

Donna went home around ten, when all the statements had been made and the pundits were obviously chasing their own tails. She was tired, but she was a little restless too, with the ridiculous part of her mind still insisting that she hadn't done nearly enough work that day. Every so often she still woke before dawn, absolutely certain that she was late to the White House and had a million things on her plate that day. The stress of dreaming was almost worth it for the relief that spread through her when she realized it was just a dream. One day, she suspected, she wouldn't feel relieved by that anymore, and she'd know she was ready to get back on the horse. For tonight, though, she ran herself a warm bubble bath and had a glass of wine and a book of literary trivia to go with it. 

She was just finishing up, wrapping herself in a towel and trying to decide if it was worth it to dry the ends of her hair where it had dipped in the water, when her phone rang. Unfamiliar number, but she picked it up anyway. “Hello?”

“Donnatella.” 

“Josh?” Her voice rose at the end, but it wasn't really a question. She knew. “God, isn't it three in the morning there?” 

“Mmmm, could be,” he agreed, his voice thick and a little dazed. “It's dark out. Midnight in America, Donna.” He chuckled grimly. 

She pursed her lips. “Josh, have you been drinking?” 

“Yes indeed, I have been doing that thing,” he confirmed. “All of it.” 

“All of it?” she repeated, a little dismayed. No matter what “it” was, Josh almost certainly couldn't tolerate all of it. “Where are you? Are you someplace safe?” 

She could hear the faint rustling as he looked around. “It's my hotel room,” he finally decided. “Nobody to drink with, but plenty to drink. We lost, Donna.”

“I know,” she said softly, relaxing slightly at the news he was safe and out of sight. “You did incredibly well, though. Nobody could've done it better...” 

“No!” he interrupted loudly. “I could've done better! Should've done more, done different. Couldn't get my goddamned act together. Where the hell were you, Donna?” he demanded, his voice angry now. “I needed you here and you weren't here!” 

Donna flinched, glad she was alone with nobody to witness. “You know where I was,” she reminded him coolly. “I have a new job that I enjoy, and I'm going to school. I'm sorry you couldn't find another assistant you liked, but I'm absolutely sure that my presence or absence didn't make a bit of difference this campaign season.” 

“You can't know that!” he insisted, even louder now. Donna considered hanging up, remembered Sam's assurance that she didn't have to let him yell at her anymore. But maybe she owed him at least this much, especially with the kind of day he'd just had. She didn't have to decide, though, because his voice suddenly dropped and cracked. “I didn't do the work I could've done. I missed you every day and you were never there. And it's my own damn fault for chasing you away but I never thought you'd actually go! You said you wouldn't... you wouldn't stop.” His words were getting more slurred now as well, more sleepy. He was very, very drunk. 

“Josh, I...” Donna pressed thumb and forefinger hard against her eyes and swallowed a couple of times. There was no good place or time for this conversation, but here and now had to be one of the least good available. “Josh, you need to go have a drink of water and go to bed now,” she said firmly, using her best bossing-Josh-around tone. “We can talk about this later, but you aren't even going to remember this tomorrow. I never stopped, I just couldn't stay anymore. Go to bed.” 

She pushed her knuckles against her lips till they turned white and listened into the phone as Josh mulled over this idea. “Do feel pretty tired,” he finally admitted. “Shouldn't have called you, stupid idea. But I like to hear your voice, even when you order me around. Are you happy?” he asked abruptly. “Sam said you were, both of you, way the hell out there with each other and away. Is that what you wanted?”

“I am happy,” Donna said carefully, not bothering to conceal the thickness in her voice when he was too far gone to hear. “This is what I needed to do. But it doesn't mean I don't miss you. We both miss you. You should come visit sometime. But first you need to go to bed. Hang up the phone, Josh.” 

“You're so bossy,” he complained. “I gotta go to bed. Night, Donna.” 

Once he'd hung up, she set the phone down carefully and walked into her bedroom, forgetting her damp hair. Tossing on a nightshirt, she sprawled on her bed and tried to will herself to sleep, but couldn't stop hearing his words in her head. She'd needed to get away, and part of that was making herself believe it wouldn't hurt Josh too much, that he wouldn't care or would at least get over it quickly. Maybe he was just drunk and maudlin tonight, but she didn't really believe it. He was a politician; if it hadn't mattered to him, he would've hugged her that night of the primary. She thought about calling Sam, but it was obviously much too late for that. Instead she hugged a pillow and blanked her mind, made herself not worry about the hangover he was going to have in the morning, and finally slept.


	13. It's The Edge of the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented last chapter, that was wonderful! I'm going to try and start catching up with some replies pretty soon here, but know that I really appreciate everyone who leaves feedback of any sort. I will not be telling anybody where the story is going right now, or if/when/who will be involved with any shipping. I will say that after the convention, time is going to start moving faster. Also, my chapters have started trending a bit longer than they were at first, hope that's okay with everyone. :)

“If I retire at forty-two, that wouldn't be weird, would it?” CJ's voice over the phone sounded completely exhausted, but at least she still had a thread of humor running through it. “I look like I've aged about twenty years, if that helps.” 

“After the eight years you've had, it absolutely wouldn't be weird,” Donna confirmed loyally, tucking her feet up next to her in her squashy armchair. It was definitely the best piece of furniture in her apartment, and right next to the window so she could watch the world go by outside. “But you'd be driving yourself crazy in two months and desperate for something important to do. “You need a vacation and a week at a really excellent spa, the kind where you get daily mud baths from nubile young men in towels.” 

“Well, there's an image for my poor, fevered brain,” CJ laughed. “What exactly are you getting up to out there in California, Donna Moss?” 

“Not going to many spas, I'm afraid,” Donna admitted. “But I've read about places like that, and I'm sure they must exist somewhere, so you should find one. Two weeks of sleep, a spa week, two weeks to sort out all of the life things that fall by the wayside at the White House, and you'll be ready for your next big thing,” she told CJ with great confidence. “Are you getting offers yet?” 

“Ugh, I don't want to talk about it,” CJ groaned. “I've been making Charlie take them far away whenever they arrive. We still have six months in office, and Toby and I are holding this place together with determination and zip ties. There's no clear candidate for the general election, and the last thing anybody needs to see is me planning for the end.” 

“You've still got plenty of time,” Donna reminded her, a little concerned by the edge in CJ's tone. It was hard to tell if it was anxiety or despair from two thousand miles away, but neither was a particularly good sign. “And you'll write your own ticket whenever you decide it's time. Most powerful woman in the world, remember?” 

“Power is not nearly so glamorous up close,” CJ assured her. 

Donna suspected it was a good time to change the subject. “Did you go to Margaret's baby shower?” 

“I actually made it for about an hour, which was surprising until I remembered that Margaret does my calendar,” CJ answered wryly. “It was mostly surreal. Meeting Margaret's mother and sisters answered a lot of my questions about her, actually.” She laughed, a real, reassuring sound. “Carol had to intervene to keep Margaret's mother from buttonholing me about the war with Canada, which she apparently took quite seriously. Then there was a big thing shaped like a wedding cake but made entirely from disposable diapers, and they tried to make us eat baby food on crackers. But I won the “first names of famous historical women” game,” she added with considerable pride. “Also, I didn't know that Ginger crochets. Apparently a lot.” 

“Ginger gets very excited about babies,” Donna agreed sagaciously. “When Bonnie had Cayson, Ginger crocheted an entire layette, plus a decorative bag to put it in. She lives all the way out in Silver Spring, she does it on the train.” 

“Huh,” CJ replied, apparently trying to comprehend the idea of having that kind of time. “Well, that baby's head will never be cold. I bought her the stroller from her list. It looked very efficient. Surprisingly technological.” 

“Knowing Margaret, it's probably the safest, most antibacterial and hypoallergenic on the market, and may have secret protection from the Illuminati worked into it as well,” Donna agreed. “I went in on the crib. Who knew baby furniture was so expensive?” She shook her head. “Just reading through that list was kind of exhausting. I can't imagine how any woman balances kids and a career, but I know they manage.” 

“I can barely keep my fish alive, much less a relationship, much less a child,” CJ agreed. “Takes a rare breed... no pun intended.” The dry humor undercut any wistfulness that might have been in either of their voices. “So, convention, San Diego, two short weeks away. You going to go watch the pie fight?” 

Donna hummed noncommittally. “I thought about it, but I only know a few people in the party out here, and I'm sure their passes are tapped out. I'll probably just watch it on television.” 

CJ gave a heavy, affected sigh. “Donna, my dear, you need to learn to lean on your friends a little harder. You know literally every person who works in the White House, and you're worried about getting a floor pass to the DNC? All you have to do is ask.” 

“And maybe for Sam, too?” Donna wheedled hopefully. 

It made CJ laugh. “Only if you make him promise to get his ass out here sometime soon. You'd think he were taking a wagon train instead of a flight from LAX to National. What about for the girlfriend, Kelsey?” 

“Kinley.” Donna thought for a minute. “Yeah, that would be good. She isn't really into politics, but if a national convention doesn't do the job, nothing will. I've never been so excited about an election in my whole life as I was in Boston on the first campaign. And she's going to have to get used to it.” 

“Sam's still feeling ambitious, hmm?” CJ mused. “Good. And I imagine you're laying groundwork already?” Donna hmmed affirmatively. “Good for you. Somebody's gotta keep running this place when the rest of us have run screaming from politics.” 

“Don't speak too soon, CJ, you could always run for Congress,” Donna suggested, only half-teasing. “You'd be great at it. And you're very tall, which is statistically a benefit to candidates.” 

“Bite your tongue!” CJ retorted firmly. “God, if I ever decide to run for public office, that's the day you call the nice men with the white coats. It's a game for megalomaniacs and masochists, and every so often a good person falls in by accident.”

“If you're sure,” Donna replied with good-humored dubiousness. “Do you really think it's going to be a pie fight?” 

“Not really,” CJ admitted. “There's a lot going on behind the scenes in the campaigns right now. I'm sure there are deals in play, but Josh is doing his angry and brooding thing and hasn't called since we issued the statement on Russell not actually hating Mexicans. So I'm not exactly in the loop right now, but I imagine the whole thing is riding on whether or not Matt Santos wants to be vice-president.” 

“I can't imagine either of them would say no to him at this point,” Donna mused. “He's a lot of voltage at the bottom of the ticket, but he's bringing the votes.” 

“It's not a matter of wanting to say no,” CJ explained. “But he and Hoynes are both from Texas. Electoral college rules require each elector to cast two ballots, one for president and one for vice president, but they are prohibited from casting both their votes for residents of their own states.” 

“So if the ticket is Hoynes/Santos, they wouldn't be able to carry Texas,” Donna realized. 

“Which means 34 electoral votes they can't possibly spare in a race against Vinick,” CJ confirmed. 

“Did you have to look all that up or did you just know that?” 

“I asked Margaret.” 

“Of course.” Donna laughed. “So if Santos wants a shot at being vice-president, he'll throw in with Russell, but if he wants the Democrats to have a chance in hell of winning, he'll throw to Hoynes and not ask for the vice-presidency. Cabinet post, maybe?” 

“Maybe,” CJ agreed. “Either way, so long as he bows out gracefully and soon, he's the crown prince in four years. Imagine what he'd do with the party behind him from the start.” 

“Yeah,” Donna mused. “He called me the other night.” 

“Who, Matt Santos?” CJ asked, surprised. 

“Oh, no. Josh did. After the New Jersey primary, he called me late that night. He was really drunk.” 

“Ah.” The wealth of understanding in CJ's voice suggested to Donna that she might be giving away more than she realized. “Are you okay? What did he say?” 

Donna shifted restlessly, tried to find the right words to explain. “It was... pretty much the conversation I've been expecting we'd have since I left, except that he was so drunk it didn't make sense for me to say anything back. He's furious with himself because he couldn't take Santos all the way, so he piled some of it on me for leaving him so he couldn't do his best work. But I'm okay. It was a backhanded compliment, I guess, him claiming that he couldn't do his job right without me.” She laughed, but there was very little humor in it. 

“That boy should never be allowed to drink anything harder than root beer,” CJ muttered. “He's right that he did his best work with you, but that doesn't mean you were obligated to sacrifice your life for him. Campaigns make him crazy, you know that. He probably hasn't slept in weeks, and he isn't talking to any of us. He'll come around.” 

“Eventually, hopefully.” Donna sighed and let it go. “If you see him soon, harass him about his cardiologist, okay? He was due for a follow-up in April and I'm a hundred percent sure he didn't go. He looks like a ghost on television. I'm about ready to call his mother.” She swore she could hear CJ's eyebrow going up from twenty-five hundred miles away. “I know!” she admitted, “but this isn't about being his assistant or micromanaging his schedule. He could die.” 

“I'll mention it,” CJ promised. “But you know it's Sam you need to recruit for this project. And in any case, I was supposed to be in a meeting three minutes ago and I'm getting evil glares, so I'm going to let you go back to bed, or whatever you were doing at six am on the West Coast. I'll have Margaret call you about those passes.” 

“Thanks CJ, I really appreciate it. Talk to you later.” Donna ended the call and stretched in her seat, watching as the sun crept over the buildings across the way. She was definitely going to have to do some shopping before the convention to start building up her Professional Political Operative With An Actual Important Job wardrobe. She'd save buying the very silly hat for the convention itself, just to fit in.  
…..............

“Hoynes! I can't believe it's going to be Hoynes.” Sam shook his head and finished his beer before stretching out on the couch. “I can't believe I'm going to have to vote for Hoynes.” 

“Did you really think it was going to be Russell?” Donna asked, picking the bits of egg out of her fried rice with chopsticks and eating them. She'd curled up in the recliner, the better to keep her own beer close to hand. “Would you have been happier to vote Bingo Bob?” 

“God no,” Sam said vehemently. He gestured at the screen, which showed a repeat of a solemn-faced Matt Santos, standing in front of a crowd of supporters to announce that he was suspending his campaign and would be endorsing John Hoynes for president. “I wanted to vote for him! Hell, I was half-expecting Josh to show up and ask me to work on his campaign, and I would've had a hard time saying no. The idea of voting for one of those two vice-presidential hacks instead turns my stomach. Both of them should be bowing out instead.” 

“It's just four years,” Donna consoled halfheartedly. “Vinick can't take the country apart too much in four years, and he's so old that maybe he won't even stand for re-election.” She abandoned her quest for eggs and began picking out bits of water chestnut. “I kind of thought Josh would ask you to join the campaign too,” she admitted. “Maybe Santos just wanted to keep writing his own speeches.” 

“Apparently he ruined my life when he brought me on board Bartlet for America,” Sam told her dryly, sitting up on his elbows to look at her. “Everything bad that happened during the first term was his fault, and he couldn't do anything to fix it. He called me the night of the New Jersey primary,” he explained at Donna's questioning look. “He was all but incoherent, but that was the gist of it. I think he felt like if he were going to tilt at windmills, he'd do it on his own.” 

“He racked up quite a phone bill that night,” Donna murmured. “But that sounds like Josh-logic. I hear Russell's going to be suspending his campaign as well, so we'll have nothing but party unity going into the convention. Has Kinley decided if she wants to come with?” 

Sam looked, if possible, even more depressed. “I'm still trying to talk her into it. I don't understand how anybody would turn down the chance to go to their own party's national convention! It's the great egalitarian political show, a chance for Americans from all walks of life to truly participate in the political process! Delegates step out of their own lives for a chance to represent something larger than themselves, to represent the greatest ideals of Democracy! Even when the candidates are lackluster, the idea itself is incredibly inspiring! How can she not see that?” 

“Not everyone is into politics,” Donna reminded him gently. “And the national convention can be a little overwhelming. Maybe she just needs to think about it for a little while. Although if she doesn't want to come,” she added, “I have several friends in my classes who would trade important teeth or future children for the chance at a floor pass to the convention. It won't go to waste.” 

“I suppose it wouldn't hurt to hold a lien on the children of a future leader of the Democratic party,” Sam mused, though the thought obviously didn't cheer him much. 

“Just so long as you don't have to change diapers. Here.” Donna scooped a cookie out of the takeout bag and lobbed it at him, bouncing it off his head. “Misfortune cookie.” 

Sam glared balefully at her, then unwrapped and cracked open the cookie. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life.” He looked again at the television screen. “Yeah, misfortune cookie. What'd you get?” 

Donna snickered and opened her own cookie. “The smart thing to do is to start trusting your intuition. I do have excellent intuition,” she decided. “Also, the Chinese word for rainy is 'xia yu.'”

“Good to know,” Sam decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my political historian husband for explaining why the President and Vice-President probably can't come from the same state even if it's technically legal. Thanks also to myfortunecookie.co.uk for providing an endless well of pithy sayings.


	14. All of Western Civilization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, faithful readers! I return to you after only two and a half days, bearing a longer-than-usual chapter with an additional thousand words of meta discussion at the end for anybody who is interested in issues of timelines and how the AU is developing in ways we can't see. It's all because I love you so much! I also may be buttering you up just a little bit before I mention that I have some actual scholarly writing to do, so this may well be all you get this week. Trying to write West Wing fic and Hunger Games analysis at the same time is deeply dissonant and puts really weird crossover ideas in my head. It's just bad news. But I will be back soon, and I still want to thank you all so much for your comments and feedback! You absolutely keep me coming back to my word processor with all your encouragement.

The Cox Arena in San Diego was packed to the gills on the first night of the Democratic National Convention, and every single Democrat within its walls seemed to be talking as loudly as possible. Donna was contributing to the din, holding a hand over one ear as she yelled into the phone. “Now did you want just the Hoynes pin, or the Hoynes/Rafferty pin, or one of the other ones?” 

“Get me both of them!” Ginger yelled on the other end of the phone. It was much quieter on her end of the line at her apartment in DC, but the yelling helped Donna to hear. “My boyfriend collects them, he wants the convention set! Is anybody offloading Russell or Santos buttons still?”

“I haven't seen any, but I'll keep an eye out!” Donna hastily paid for the pins and stepped out onto one of the small outdoor terraces, where it was slightly smoky but much quieter. “You might have to look on eBay,” she suggested in a more normal tone. “After Russell suspended his campaign and went back to DC, his organization pretty much collapsed. I can't believe he fired Will Bailey!” 

“Will was never the problem with that campaign,” Ginger agreed, incensed on Will's behalf. “He was the one thing Bingo Bob had going for him. He'd never have recovered from that stupidass press spokesman thing without him. But OEOB's loss is our gain.” 

“Yeah, I heard CJ snapped him back up for Deputy. I can't imagine that didn't ruffle feathers.” Donna leaned against the wall and settled in, eager for some gossip. “How did Toby take it?” 

Ginger laughed. “Have you ever left your cat with friends while you go on vacation, then come back home to it? It was kind of like that.” Donna laughed too as Ginger continued. “Toby was horrible for like three days, just impossible to deal with. Muttering and stomping and throwing that godawful ball at anything that stood still long enough. But Will just hung in there and took his medicine, and eventually Toby remembered that he's been in desperate need of a deputy and really lonely besides, so it was okay again. He and Will drank half a pint of Jack in his office the other night and talked about astronauts, and after that they were just fine.” 

“Astronauts?” Donna asked. “Oh, you mean that thing with the space station? I haven't heard much about it, but I guess Toby would know.” 

“Yeah, there's some kind of a problem with it, something broke and now there's not enough oxygen for the astronauts until they can get back to Earth,” Ginger explained. “It sounded bad but then Will was all telling us about how it was probably going to be okay because they can put together an unmanned mission that resupplies the astronauts with oxygen and maybe extra tools and stuff. They send unmanned missions up all the time with supplies, did you know that?” 

“I guess I never really thought about it,” Donna confessed. “How did Will know about all that?” 

“Aside from him being a huge nerd, you mean? You know how he's in the Air Force reserve?” Ginger asked rhetorically. “I guess he was desperate to be an astronaut when he was a kid, wanted to be a pilot and all that stuff. He read everything there is to know about the space program, but somehow he didn't find out till he was in high school or something that you have to have half-decent vision even without your glasses to be an astronaut pilot. Will's basically blind without glasses, so he was out. Getting into the Air Force reserve was at least something, even if they didn't let him pilot anything either, but I guess he's still a space nut. He was going on and on and on, and I was sure Toby was going to shut him up, but he just sat there and listened.” Ginger dropped her voice confidentially. “I think maybe it reminded him of David.”  
Donna frowned sympathetically into the phone. “That might be it,” she agreed. “I know he took that really hard. Cancer is horrible.” 

“The worst,” Ginger agreed. “He even started seeing... nope, nope, can't even say that over the phone,” she decided aloud, “not now anyway. When you come visit you can get us all drunk with your fancy private-sector money and we'll give you the really good gossip.” 

“That's a deal,” Donna agreed, now intensely curious. She hadn't heard even a whisper that Toby might be involved with anyone after the last time things with Andy had collapsed. Maybe Toby had gotten himself a Stanley. Not nearly as big a deal for the Director of Communications as for the DCOS, but still not something to be spread around lightly. “I'd better get back inside, the President is speaking in two hours and I need to get some incredibly expensive nachos and find Sam.” 

“Ah, convention nachos,” Ginger mused nostalgically. “Eight dollars of spicy rubber goodness. Make sure you've got your Maalox handy. And get me one of those pennant things if you see one, okay?” Donna promised she would and said goodbye, slipping her phone into her pocket as she made her way back into the throng. 

She'd arranged to meet Sam and Kinley at the hospitality room for the California delegation, which was good since otherwise she'd have had to resort to signal flares in the crowd. As it was, she had to throw a few discreet elbows into the generally well-padded flanks of the Midwestern states delegates just to get down the long hallway of conference rooms. Her pass got her into the room, where she made sure to greet and exchange pleasantries with all the people she'd already met at party functions in LA. She had cards of her own to give out now, and she exchanged them freely, tucking away the ones she received for later follow-up. She thought cheerfully that maybe she'd need an assistant herself one of these days. 

Sam was in the middle of the room and holding court as usual, talking with the current Senator whose job he was hoping to have in two more years. Senator Nelson was tall, almost gaunt, and slightly stooped as he approached seventy. Donna had met him many times in Washington, but she was still surprised when he recognized her as she approached. “Ms. Moss, how lovely to see you again. I heard you'd become a resident of our beautiful state.” Nobody would say the senator wasn't sharp, but she'd always liked him for the friendly gleam in his eye. 

“That's right, sir, and I love it already,” she told him warmly, taking his offered hand. “I was hoping to get a chance to tell you how much I loved your speech to United Children s' Charities last month. It was incredibly moving.” 

“Well that's very nice of you to say, and well-remembered too,” he replied, patting her hand and releasing it. “You were always the people person, weren't you? I remember coming out of meetings ready to beat Josh Lyman with a stout stick, and by the time I got back to my office there was a fruit basket waiting with a very diplomatic note attached. That was your doing, wasn't it.” 

“You're allergic to strawberries,” she confirmed with a small smile. 

He laughed. “And I bet you knew the same sort of thing about every Congressman and Senator he was likely to piss off.” He turned to Sam. “If you want this seat, you snap her up for your team before someone else gets hold of her,” he advised. 

“Already working on it, sir,” Sam assured the senator with a broad smile. “So I'll stop by your office next week and we'll talk about the initiative?” 

“That'll work just fine. Call my office and we'll set it up. It's nice to see you both again.” The Senator stepped away to speak with some of the delegates, and Sam's attention was immediately captured by the party chairwoman for San Diego county. Donna herself got swept up in other conversations, and it was ten more minutes before she actually got to speak with Sam. 

“Busy night,” she commented when they both washed up on the same side of the room for once. 

“Tell me about it,” he agreed with a grin and a brow-wiping gesture. “You'd think the delegates would be less excited because the race is a foregone conclusion, but apparently it just means that the pressure is off. And there is a lot of free alcohol available.”

“That never hurts,” Donna said with a nod. “We should get going, though, the president will be speaking in twenty minutes and we need to find our seats. Where's Kinley?” 

He made an unhappy face. “She's going to meet us in there. She wanted to make a call and find someplace quieter to work.” They made their way to the door and into the busy hallway, dodging knots of slow traffic with the skill of experienced hall walkers. “She really doesn't like politics,” he finally admitted, running a hand over his face. “None of this means anything to her.” 

“I think you're right,” Donna agreed, as quietly as possible given the noise surrounding them. “I don't think that's likely to change.” 

“I just don't understand!” he exclaimed, almost sputtering. “How can it not mean anything? How can anyone live in a democracy, provided with the precious and rarest right afforded to people, the right to choose one's own leaders in free and fair elections, and find it meaningless? When we can stand here, a blessed generation, and reap the rewards of ancestors who bled and died for the precept that everyone should have a voice in what happens in their government, how can anyone look at that tremendous gift and say they don't care about politics?” Sam's cheeks were slightly reddened, both from emotion and because a few people around them were glancing over to watch him expostulate. 

“Anyway,” he muttered, his voice much lower, “it doesn't make any sense to me.” 

“She probably doesn't think of it that way,” Donna offered. 

“But she should! I reminded her of all of this on the way to the convention, and she just got annoyed with me!” Donna had to purse her lips together to hide sudden laughter at Sam's frustration. She could just imagine that conversation on the three-hour car ride to San Diego. “A lawyer, of all people, should understand the importance of choosing who drafts our legislation. And the convention, even if parts of it are silly, is a big part of that!” 

“Preaching to the choir,” Donna reminded him. “This is my third convention trip. You guys are probably going to have to have a talk, but you might want to wait till after the convention. You're sharing a hotel room.” 

Sam subsided, but he didn't look happy about it. They made their way into the main convention hall, which had been a quarter-full all day with people watching the minor dignitaries making speeches for CSPAN. It was nearly at capacity now, full of banners and waving signs, and the dull roar of ten thousand party loyalists ready for something to cheer about. Margaret had really come through for them, their passes got them very close to the front of the throng, in a cordoned-off area typically reserved for members of the campaigns. Donna supposed there'd been room to maneuver there after it became clear that Russell might not even show up for the convention. Donna suspected he'd be around, dragged by the ear if necessary to make his endorsement, but the seats that would've belonged to his staffers went empty. She recognized a few Santos campaign staffers still around, either they'd transitioned to Hoynes' team or simply wanted to see things through till the end, but none of the highest-level people. 

Just as she was about to show her badge for her seating area, she heard someone in the press area off to her right call her name. “Hey Donna! Donna Moss!” She looked over to see Danny Concannon, scruffy as ever, if with a little more gray in his hair, grinning at her from behind the press line. He gestured to her to come over. 

“Give me one second, I'll be right behind you,” she told Sam, then slipped over to the press line. She knew more than a few of these journalists, a lot of them were taking a vacation from the press room to cover the convention, but she was hardly newsworthy herself. “Hi Danny,” she said cordially, taking his hand for a quick squeeze. “I haven't seen you in forever. I thought you were staying in Eastern Europe.” 

“What, and leave showbiz?” he quipped, gesturing at the miles of bunting and balloons surrounding them. “Guess I just have politics in my bloodstream. Listen, can I talk to you outside for a minute?” She drew back, suspicious and nervous for a moment, a graduate of CJ's lessons in how junior staffers should deal with nosy members of the press. He noticed right away. “It's nothing bad, I promise,” he wheedled. “I don't want to get anything from you, I want to pass something along.” 

She snuck a look at the enormous clock on the wall opposite the podium. “Okay,” she said dubiously, “but just for a minute.” Working her way around the press cordon, she made her way to the nearest exit and met him in what looked like a service hallway, only half-lit and with exposed pipes running along the ceiling. “What's this all about?” 

“I got a tip from a source,” he told her, keeping his voice low and his head tilted close to hers. “It's nothing I'm going to use, not my style, but it's credible. There's something still out there about Hoynes that hasn't dropped yet, and it's big. The story is that it almost came out during the primaries, but then Russell's guy imploded and they were able to cover it up a little longer, but it's not gone. If my guy knows about it, other people are going to find out soon enough. The thing with Helen Baldwin wasn't Hoynes' only indiscretion.” 

Donna's eyes were wide as she listened. “Yeah, everybody knows that,” she countered. “She was just the first one anybody could prove. He probably has a little black book that goes back for years.” 

“At least a decade,” Danny confirmed, and there was something both angry and bleak in his voice that Donna couldn't quite understand. She wondered if he knew somebody who'd fallen afoul of the former vice-president, but it hardly mattered now. “I'm saying Helen Baldwin wasn't the last indiscretion. Or the youngest.” 

“Oh, shit,” Donna blurted, then covered her mouth. “Did you tell anybody about this already? Did you tell Josh?” 

“Josh isn't taking anybody's calls these days, even an old college buddy's,” Danny said ruefully, “and I'm not brave enough yet to see if CJ's taking mine. But if he'll take anybody's call, he'll take yours, no matter what's going on between you,” he added, running over her when she opened her mouth to contradict him. “If Matt Santos wants a future in politics, he has to get away from Hoynes. It's too late not to endorse him, but he's got to be careful. Let Josh know that, okay? And see if you can remind him who his friends are.” 

Donna blew out a breath. “I'll try,” she promised, her mind whirling with the new information and everything it could change. “Thanks, Danny.” 

He tipped an imaginary hat to her. “And if you wanna put in a good word for me with CJ, I wouldn't say no,” he added hopefully. 

She couldn't help but laugh a little. “Yeah, I'll bet. Wait till after the convention, when things settle down a little,” she advised. “She'll take your call.” The noise level outside suddenly rose to a crescendo as the first speaker took the podium. “I have to get back.” She hurried back into the hall and all but wrestled her way through the crowd and into her seat. Sam gave her a curious look. “Later,” she promised, then put her hands together to clap and cheer for President Bartlet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all meta for the White House portion of this chapter, so if you aren't interested, please feel free to skip it. No, I do not believe Will Bailey is some kind of astronaut savant who knows more than the NASA administrators and all the advisors to the President and saved the day by coming up with a novel plan just in time Assuming Toby were the leak, it would've been very early in the crisis before options had been fully explored, when his anger and helplessness created a moment of thoughtless action (think CJ in Take Out The Trash Day, and Greg is no Danny.) In a scenario like that, all it would take is one friendly voice at the right time, offering a plausible hope that everything is going to be all right without any intervention, to squelch that urge. That's a role that clever, earnest, nerdy Will Bailey is ideally suited to fill. I am quickly discovering that in an AU fic, the hardest thing to explain within the text is why things did not happen the way they did in canon, because none of the characters have any reason to notice them not happening. (Along the same lines, if you noticed Ricki Rafferty on the ticket in this chapter, Donna did not visit the White House for the DNC Gala, she did not pull Josh into the closet and point out the details of Rafferty's speech, therefore Josh and Toby did not have a fistfight in the White House and Toby did not elect to stop helping Rafferty. She eventually suspended her campaign well before the end, but was more prominent and plausible than in canon.) 
> 
> Timeline is also a continuing issue in any West Wing fic that tries to run alongside the series because, in short, nobody on the writing staff seems to have given a damn. The problem got notably worse in the second term, with an entire year of time dropping out of the universe somewhere along the line. In most of my scheduling thus far I have used the primary calendar from the 2004 election, which I am almost certain is the calendar the writers used for the 2006 primary in the show (with the notable exception of Ninety Miles Away, which does not adhere to our human concepts of timeline and continuity.) This isn't usually a big problem, but when you're working with a life or death deadline, aberrations are serious. 
> 
> We're given an initial estimate of three weeks that the astronauts can survive in space, possibly a bit more if they seal themselves in a smaller chamber. This is on Day 1 of the Republican Convention, which is four days long. The press leak occurs on Day 3 or 4 of the convention, depending on whether Greg Brock took a day first to consolidate his sources, but we see Annabeth and Toby get news of it on Day 4. The next episode begins (for the White House) on what seems to be the very next morning and cannot be more than a day or so afterwards. This also appears to be the day before the Democratic Convention begins, which will also be a four-day thing. (This makes almost no sense given any historical dating of the national conventions but I'm just going to let that go.) By the time the military starts saying “If we don't get up there in two days, we can't save them,” we are in Day 2 of the Convention, which means that by the most generous estimates, ten days have passed since the problem developed. There should be eleven days of oxygen remaining for the astronauts, plus or minus a few hours for spacewalks/smaller chamber. It makes no sense that the astronauts should have so little oxygen left, or that the situation should be so dire. (Television Without Pity attempted valiantly to explain the timing problem by suggesting that the last scene with Toby and Annabeth actually takes place on a different night after a time skip, possibly days or even weeks after Vinick's speech. Everyone is wearing the same clothes as they were on Day 4, though, which makes that seem unlikely, especially since CJ is watching convention footage as the episode ends.) 
> 
> It's pointed out, however, that there is no NASA representative included in any high-level meeting. Instead, we get the same fine military minds that brought us the almost-war with Canada. I am going to assume, in the interests of anything making sense ever, that this is the same kind of situation, where the brass have gotten themselves so worked up over a problem that they have lost sight of the most obvious solution, just like what happened in the Sit Room with Canada. Once the leak was released, the pressure ramped up to use the military shuttle instead of exploring other options, so that had to happen. Without the leak, cooler heads might have prevailed, an unmanned mission could've been launched, and NASA would've gotten the two weeks they needed to put a shuttle back together and launch it. 
> 
> That's my story anyway, as best I could cobble together from several consecutive watches of the episodes involved, and I'm sticking to it! I'm always open to debating alternative theories in the comments. :D


	15. Everybody's Been There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And lo, I have returned to you after my sojurn in the wilderness of Panem, bringing you a slightly short chapter, but a promise of more to come soon! The feedback I've gotten this week has been so lovely, thank you to everyone who commented or left kudos or favorited. I hope that the AU is still making sense to readers even as our arc away from canon begins to widen. This chapter is fun because we get to actually see some faces we've only been hearing from until now. Next chapter: Sam!

Donna always loved hearing President Bartlet speak, no matter how many times she listened to him. It didn't matter if she had Josh muttering polling data in her ear the entire time or, as in this case, Sam offering whispered praise and critique of Toby's speechwriting. The President spoke of the accomplishments of the last eight years, reminders that filled her with a warm glow of satisfaction at having been a small part of them. He also spoke of the tragedies and hard times, and she was grateful for Sam's quick squeeze of her fingers at the inevitable mention of Rosslyn. The crowd was sitting in the palm of his hand as he turned the topic to John Hoynes, deftly avoiding mentions of scandals and resignation in disgrace and President Glen-Allen Walken as he described all the achievements of his ex-vice-president. Toby really was a phenomenal speechwriter, Donna decided. By the end of the speech, the crowd was on its feet, screaming and cheering, ready to count delegates a full day ahead of time. The music swelled as the president finished and walked offstage; it was Hoynes' campaign theme tune, “Ain't That America,” but only the chorus. 

Donna had to laugh. “I'm not sure that's entirely on-message,” she remarked to Sam. 

“It could be worse,” he reminded her. “It could be Happy Days Are Here Again, right after we hear about the ending of the eight years of our administration.” 

“Yeah, okay,” she agreed, then broke off when she saw Carol cutting through the crowd like a laser beam. Carol was doing three jobs these days, managing the deputies in the absence of a press secretary, wrangling the press to keep Will and Toby's briefings from being utterly chaotic, and helping Nancy keep track of CJ's schedule while Margaret was on leave. She looked very close to exhaustion, but Donna suspected that was only because the senior press assistant was as good with cosmetics as CJ. “Carol!” she called out, waving. 

“Donna!” Carol reached them moments later, giving Donna an enthusiastic hug, then giving Sam one for good measure. “Sam!” Kinley was watching them all with a very unimpressed face, but Carol cheerfully ignored it as she stuck out a hand. “And you must be Kinley, the super-attorney! Donna's told me all about you because Sam never calls us anymore.” Sam had the grace to look mildly abashed. “I'm Carol Fitzpatrick, Deputy White House Press Secretary.” 

“Really?” Donna squealed before poor Kinley could get a word in edgewise. “You made deputy?” 

“Day before yesterday,” Carol confirmed, her smile blinding. “I start doing press briefings on Monday. Toby's sick and tired of doing the briefings, Will won't do them if Toby won't do them, and you know Henry can't do anything more than read prepared statements.” She leaned in close to Donna. “It's a two month trial, and if it works out, I might lose the 'deputy' part.” 

“That's so great!” Donna gave Carol another impulsive hug. Carol had been ready for more in her job for a long time, with only her complete loyalty to CJ keeping her at her desk, first as her assistant, then holding the press office together for her. “I'll make sure to watch live on Monday.” 

“Congratulations,” Kinley agreed with warmth that seemed only slightly strained. “And it's very nice to meet you. I'm making the acquaintance of so many of Sam and Donna's friends this week.” 

“That's a convention for you,” Carol agreed cheerfully. “It's like a high school reunion for politicians. But that's actually why I came over. The President would like to see you all this evening at his suite at the Hyatt. Just an informal get-together before we fly back tomorrow night.” She grinned at Donna and Sam. “He wants you to know attendance is voluntary, but not optional.” 

“Of course!” Sam chuckled, then gave Kinley a look that was much too hopeful for Donna's peace of mind. If Kinley were overwhelmed by the convention already, somehow it seemed like meeting the President and his entourage wasn't going to be very helpful, but at this point Donna suspected it couldn't hurt anything either. “Come on, sweetheart,” Sam added coaxingly. “It'll be fun.” 

Kinley was a skilled attorney and no slouch at diplomacy herself; she managed a bright and pleasant smile. “It will be an honor,” she told Sam and Carol at the same time. “What time should we be there?” 

“Oh, an hour or so should have everyone settled in and the food arriving,” Carol replied. “Just go up to the Secret Service guards on the elevator, you're all vetted and on the list.” She looked over her shoulder. “And I better get going or I'll miss the motorcade. See you there!” She turned and disappeared back into the crowd before Donna could ask if Josh was going to be there. 

“You'll like this,” Sam told Kinley enthusiastically. “You'll get a chance to meet all the people we've been telling you about. Although I'm not sure Toby or Will would've come for this. Toby's not allowed to be in the President's sightline while he's speaking, so he may have stayed home, but Leo will be there, and CJ, and probably the First Lady. Hope you've boned up on your trivia,” he added to Donna. 

“I'm not worried,” Donna assured him blithely. “If I run out of California facts, I've got the whole history of labor law to fall back on. Besides, he usually just wants somebody who likes to listen without making a huge ordeal of it. What he knows about parks-” 

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop!” Sam begged, raising both his hands in supplication. “I beg you not to start the parks thing all over again. It was bad enough the first time around.” 

“That was a moment of significant personal triumph for me, Sam,” Donna reminded him. “We created a new national park!” 

“I remember, I wrote the dedication speech. It took three rewrites, and then the President chose to abandon prepared remarks mid-speech and give the crowd fifteen minutes of the formation of the National Park Service. It was brutal,” he reminded her back. 

“It was... slightly pedantic,” Donna allowed. 

“CJ had to use smelling salts on the press corps,” Sam countered. “It was almost as bad as the thing with the bridge in Oregon.”

“I liked the thing in Oregon!” 

“Three hours, Donna! For a campaign whistle-stop! There was no reason-” 

“Is this going to be the agenda for the rest of the evening?” Kinley asked, an edge of impatience in her voice as she broke into the repartee. “I know you guys like to tell the story about this thing and that thing, but I'm going to need some kind of encyclopedia of anecdotes that all start with the word 'thing' if you get into it with all your friends.” 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Sam told her, genuinely abashed. He slipped an arm around Kinley and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “No more with the shorthand tonight, I promise. You'll have a good time.” 

“We'd better get a move on,” Donna pointed out. “Getting a cab anywhere near here is going to take most of our hour, even after the motorcade moves out. And I promised I'd try and find Ginger one of those weird pennant things.” 

“Oh, like we did with Rock the Vote? Those were pretty weird,” Sam agreed cheerfully. Donna didn't look back as she headed for the main hall, but she was pretty sure Kinley was rolling her eyes. 

If the Santos campaign HQ and the convention had been moments of deja vu, setting foot in the penthouse of the Hyatt was like returning home after moving away to college. It didn't matter that Donna had never been to this hotel before; all hotels were mostly the same. But walking past the Secret Service agents and into a room full of music and familiar, friendly faces was something she hadn't even realized she missed so much. 

CJ was the first person to notice them come in, possibly due to her distinct height advantage. She was in one of her dress-to-kill business suits, looking comfortable and confident and somehow even taller than she had as Press Secretary. “Well, look who finally deigned to drag his ass back in here,” she called, her amused voice cutting easily through the din as she made her way over. “Samuel Norman Seaborn, you don't call, you don't write, I check my email, nada. What makes you think you can just parade in here looking like a magazine ad?” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, then gave him a fierce hug to belie all her words. “Missed you, Sparky.” 

Sam returned the hug with equal fervor, grinning as he stepped back and kept his hands on CJ's shoulders for an extra moment. “I heard the new boss in the office is a real hardass type,” he quipped. “I thought if I dropped by she might lock me up in the Steam Pipe Trunk Distribution Venue and not let me out.” 

CJ cocked her head as though considering the idea. “It's not out of the question,” she decided. She briefly introduced herself to Kinley, who was already looking slightly intimidated to be meeting the White House Chief of Staff, then turned to Donna. “My god, look at you,” she said, taking in Donna's new hair, new suit, new everything. “Donna, my darling, you are amazing.” She leaned in and hugged Donna too, briefly enveloping her in strong arms and a faint cloud of scent that exuded both class and subtle authority. Donna was absolutely going to have to find out what it was. 

“It's so good to see you both again. The President's waiting in the other room; there's a softball game,” CJ explained, leading the way through the suite. As they walked, Donna waved to Will, obviously standing in for Toby, and Carol, who was collecting wires and could only give a quick finger-waggle back. Just before they went into the sitting room, Donna noticed movement in the kitchenette. She glanced over and saw Josh, sitting at the table with Mrs. Bartlet, a blood pressure cuff wrapped around one arm. He looked ghastly, nearly ghostly, his skin all but translucent with fatigue and his suit hanging on him like he'd bought two sizes large. Donna could understand why the First Lady would reach for her bag. Her eyes met his, just for a moment, and then Donna was walking through the door and away.


	16. Steal Your Mind's Elation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, there was a lot of feedback on the last chapter! Apparently I left many people twisting in the wind by presenting Josh and then not letting him say anything. Ah well. :D But to prove how much I love you (and to avoid leaving you all hanging any longer on the inevitable conversations that are about to occur), I have busted ass and finished two chapters in as many days, both of which are presented now for your reading pleasure. They overlap heavily in time, but one chapter is Sam's and one is Donna's. I hope you enjoy, just don't get to expecting this sort of thing very often. I feel like the proverbial cup of tea after it's been drunk. And yes, a chapter from Josh is coming up soon. All feedback is loved, welcomed, and as these chapters prove, very motivating!

Sam kept one hand on the small of Kinley's back as he escorted her into the sitting room, instinctively polite as only a man who'd live through cotillion at school could be. He felt Donna hesitate for a moment behind him, but then they were in the room with the President and Sam felt all the old familiar warmth and nerves and affection and pride rush over him. “Mr. President,” CJ announced, “your guests are here.” 

The sitting room was a smaller version of the living room outside, comfortable couches and chairs around a large television tuned to what seemed to be the Women's World Softball Championships, from what Sam could read of the screen. President Bartlet was relaxing in a button-down shirt and slacks on one side of the couch with his arm around Zoey in the middle. Sam was relieved to see Zoey looking far better than the last time he'd seen her on television, only a few months after her abduction. She'd looked haunted then, but now she looked comfortable in her own skin again, the sparkle back in her eyes. On her other side, Charlie was looking considerably less comfortable, trying to watch the softball game while remaining nearly at attention on the couch, sitting next to Zoey without touching any part of her except her fingertips. In Sam's estimation, it looked less like trouble in paradise and much more like a healthy fear of Zoey's father. 

The President rose to his feet with the help of a handsome wooden cane and a subtle push from Zoey. “'Sweet is the memory of distant friends!'” he declaimed, walking towards them with only a little stiffness in his gait. “'Like the mellow rays of the departing sun, it falls tenderly, yet sadly, on the heart.' Do any of you know who said that?” 

Sam looked at Donna, who shrugged minutely. Kinley was no help, she was in the middle of the typical first-meeting-with-the-president paralysis and would likely have nothing to say for another few minutes. But the quote did sound familiar. He wracked his brain. “Ah, would that be Washington Irving, sir?” 

President Bartlet grinned. “The Bard of the Catskills,” he agreed expansively. “And right he was, too. You're looking well, Sam.” He reached out with his free hand and took Sam's, squeezing it paternally. Jed Bartlet was not a man often given to great physical affection, but he could say more with a handshake than almost anyone else Sam had met. He squeezed back and held on a moment before releasing it. “The private sector seems to agree with you. I hope not too much!” 

“It's been a nice change, sir,” Sam admitted with a smile. “But it's definitely not a permanent move. I have an ambitious campaign strategist already positioning me for midterms.” He grinned at Donna, who smiled and blushed a little, but did not demur. 

“Now that's excellent news,” the President said, with a wide smile for Donna this time. Before greeting her, though, he took the hand of an awestruck Kinley and looked to Sam for an introduction. 

“Mr. President, may I introduce Kinley Danielson?” Sam asked smoothly, one supportive arm still around his girlfriend. He tried to tell himself it was all support and affection, and not at all hoping she wasn't going to run away. “Kinley is an attorney at Craft, Roberts and Summerville, and also works with the Los Angeles Pro Bono Alliance for Justice.” 

“It's an honor to meet you, Mister President,” Kinley said, finding her voice again. 

“Attorneys working in the public interest are the backbone of our judicial system,” the President said, his tone avuncular and just a bit soothing. After two terms, he was used to nervous new faces. “To ensure justice for those who are least able to pursue it for themselves is a high calling. We'll have to sit down a moment and talk about the work you do.” He patted her hand and turned to Donna, his smile falling away even as his eyes still sparkled. “And what do you have to say for yourself, Donnatella Moss?” he asked in a mock-severe voice that had Zoey giggling from the couch. 

“Sir?” Donna asked, raising her eyebrows and schooling her face to seriousness. 

“When Samuel here decided to leave us, it was an impulsive move, and according to certain members of my senior staff, inconsiderate, boneheaded, and unwise- and that's just Toby, mind you!” The President glanced Sam's way and waggled his eyebrows, and Sam had to stifle a laugh. “But at the very least, he told us that he was leaving so we could send him off with a cake!” Donna looked uncomfortable at this, and the President's voice gentled a bit. “Now I know there were extenuating circumstances involved, and nobody will say you weren't entitled to make a change. But there were many of us who'd have liked the chance to wish you well on your new endeavor.” 

Donna nibbled her lower lip, looking very much like a young woman being taken to task by her father. “Yes sir, I was sorry to leave so abruptly, but... I needed to go, and there were a lot of other things going on at the time.”

“I suppose that's true,” President Bartlet allowed, letting her off the hook. “But you know it's very difficult getting anybody to listen to interesting information these days. Those two are useless,” he complained, waving a hand toward the pair on the couch, “and Debbie just ignores me. I'm a powerful man,” he explained, as though anybody in the room would forget it, “but try telling that to my family and staff. I see that smile, CJ, don't think you're hiding anything. All I'm saying,” he continued, “is that it's very good to see you again, and I'm going to need to have a conversation with you over a number of topics I've been reading about lately.” 

At that, Donna's smile blossomed fully. “I'd like that, sir,” she told him. “And it's very good to see you again too.” 

The President nodded. “Well, now that's all settled, I believe we should all watch the highly skilled athletes of the Women's World Softball Federation as they have it out on the diamond. CJ, go find what Leo's doing and make him come take a break, would you? The rest of you sit down and enjoy yourselves.” 

“Yes sir,” said CJ, doing very little to hide her grin as she slipped out of the room. 

“Mr. President, if I could just take a minute?” Donna asked, motioning towards the door. 

“Go ahead,” President Bartlet told her with a quick wave. Donna nodded and followed CJ out the door as Sam and Kinley found places on the loveseat. Sam wasn't particularly interested in softball, so he struck up a conversation with Charlie about law school and was relieved when Kinley joined in as well. Charlie would be heading to Georgetown next fall, his admission deferred a year to allow him to finish out the administration. From the possessive way he and Zoey were looking at each other, Sam suspected that there might be other things on the agenda as well, post-White House and pre-law school. Neither of them were the type to want a state wedding. 

Leo came in after a few minutes, then the First Lady, who murmured something in her husband's ear before sitting down next to him on the couch, nearly pushing Zoey into Charlie's lap. Zoey was unperturbed, Charlie somewhat less so. Something was bothering Mrs. Bartlet, Sam decided after watching her from the corner of his eye for a few moments. He wondered if the President could be on another downswing and just hiding it very well. On the other hand, Abbey Bartlet was not usually shy about giving her husband medicine or sending him to bed in front of the staff, not anymore. For now she seemed content to remain tucked up in the corner of the couch and occasionally toss contributions into the conversation. 

Talk eventually turned from law to politics, like pretty much every conversation Sam had ever had with this group of people. Leo had some really amazing ideas about how the administration should be spending its last hundred days, especially if a Republican administration might be coming in, and Sam was about ready to start adding his two cents when Donna crept back into the room, closing the door softly behind her with both hands. She'd washed her face, but even across the room Sam could see the telltale mark of tears. “One second,” he murmured to Kinley, then got up and walked over to where Donna was lingering by the door. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, automatically turning his body to shield her from the room. 

Donna took a deep breath that hitched slightly at the end before looking up at him and nodding. She'd pulled herself together admirably, but there wasn't much she could do about the uneven splotches of color on her fair skin. “Yeah, I'm fine,” she replied, just as quietly. 

Sam felt the sudden urge to run his fingers along her cheek and try to wipe the last traces of tears away, but instead he put a reassuring hand on her arm, just above the elbow. “What's going on?” 

She closed her eyes for a second. “Josh is here,” she finally said, her voice full of emotions Sam couldn't even begin to sort. “He's not staying.” That one was a lot easier to figure out, especially when she opened her eyes and they were filmed with new moisture. He made an understanding noise, moved in to hug her, comfort her, do something, but she put a hand on his chest. “Not now,” she pleaded. “I can't... I'm going to go wash my face.” 

He let go of her arm and watched as she hurried around back of the sofas and into the suite's little powder room. Sam could feel Kinley watching him before he even turned back to see her. She looked concerned and more than a little uncomfortable, but Sam couldn't really fill her in now. He jerked his head towards the door, made the universal symbol for “five minutes” and hurried out. 

The crowd in the other room had settled down some, Will was asleep on one sofa with a can of Dr. Pepper clutched loosely in his hand, while CJ and Carol huddled in discussion over a sheaf of newspapers and a handful of aides watched convention coverage on television. CJ looked up as Sam came into the room and jerked her head in the direction of the front door. Sam nodded and took her cue, hurrying down the little hall towards the penthouse suite's private elevator. 

He caught up with Josh at the elevator doors, where Josh was attempting to wrestle his way back into a suit jacket that looked as though it had been wadded into a small ball sometime in the distant past and been unearthed by modern archaeologists. The elevator button was dark, unpushed, and Sam couldn't decide whether Josh wasn't ready to descend or had simply forgotten. “You look like hell,” Sam told him, deftly interposing his body between Josh and the elevator doors. 

“You know,” Josh said, slightly muffled from where he was hung up inside the jacket, “you're not the first person to tell me that? I'm starting to think there was a memo.” He worked his head free from the confining collar, and Sam was startled at how whey-faced her was, how many new lines marked his forehead. More than that, though, was the absolute bleakness in his eyes, a sort of despairing loss he seemed to be doing his best to disguise. “Don't even bother, I already got the third degree from the First Lady and from Donna.” Josh turned his face to look at the elevator numbers as though he expected one to be arriving any moment. 

“I imagine so,” Sam replied, struggling to keep his voice mild. “We've been worried about you. Donna's afraid you haven't been keeping up with your doctor's appointments.” 

“Donna doesn't need to be worrying about me anymore!” Josh insisted, his voice suddenly rough. “I'm not either of your problem anymore, and I don't need your handholding!” 

“That's not the way it looks from where I'm standing, buddy,” Sam shot back, ready to match Josh's tone, but not quite ready for a fight in front of the Secret Service agents. He dragged Josh into the empty cloakroom off the elevator lobby and pulled the curtain shut, granting them at least a modicum of privacy. “What's going on?” he demanded quietly. “I didn't even know you were here, and now you're leaving without so much as saying hello? And what the hell did you say to Donna?” 

Josh glared at him, but Sam was much too used to that for it to have any effect. “I've got too much to do to be hanging around here,” Josh insisted, with the air of someone trying to convince himself more than anyone. “I need to get down and talk to the Congressman right away. I wouldn't have been here at all except it clearly wasn't optional.” He shifted from foot to foot, no longer meeting Sam's eyes. “It's not like a campaign ends when you lose.” 

“Your campaign folded weeks ago,” Sam pointed out, taking a half-step forward that put him into Josh's personal space. “There can't be that much left to do at this point. You're not carrying the world on your shoulders anymore, Josh, and there aren't dozens of people depending on you to direct them. Right now it's just you and me.” He reached out and put two fingers under Josh's chin, raising his head until their eyes locked. “Why are you running away?” 

“Because you all want things from me!” Josh almost spat, pulling away and flattening himself against the wall of the narrow alcove. “And I haven't got a damn thing left to give anybody! I can't be anybody's friend, or- or anything more, I can't run your campaign, I can't go back to work at the White House! Everything is fucked up, and that's all on me, and we all know it! I just need,” he continued, taking deep, jerky breaths, “to finish what I started, to get Matt Santos out of the mess I put him in, and get out for awhile. I can't be responsible for anybody but myself.” 

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, then folded his arms. “Where will you go?” he asked. 

Josh gave him a crooked half-smile, a faint and twisted shadow of the old cocky smirk. “I hear Florida's nice this time of year. One more unemployed, middle-aged loser moving back in with his mother, right?” 

“Josh-” Sam began, wanting badly to reach out again, but Josh cut him off immediately. 

“Leave it alone, Sam, please.” Josh turned away, this time pressing his forehead against the wall instead of his back. “I just, just... I just need to step away from everything for awhile and figure things out. I just need some quiet and nobody looking at me.” His voice was soft, defeated, very un-Josh. 

Sam was silent for a long minute, studying the slumping lines of Josh's back, listening to the rasp of his breath. “If you promise you're going to take care of yourself,” he finally offered. “I know you have a whole list of things you're supposed to be doing that you've ignored for the past seven months. If you have to go, then you can go, but don't leave us worrying about you.” 

“You think I can live with my mother and not-” 

“No misdirection, no deflection,” Sam insisted harshly, and saw Josh flinch. “Not this time. You get yourself a doctor, a cardiologist, a therapist, whatever it is you need to get yourself healthy again. Promise me.”

The silence stretched between them until Sam could hear the distant music of the television, the muffled footstep as one of the agents outside shifted position. He waited. “I promise,” Josh finally said, his voice gravelly and rough as as he turned back to look at Sam. 

“It's going to get better,” Sam offered, a little bit desperate to take some of the bleakness from Josh's face before he let him go. “It's not always going to feel like this.” Even he wasn't quite sure what he was talking about, exactly. 

“Yeah,” Josh agreed softly. “Something's gotta give. I'll call you sometime.” The unspoken 'don't call me' hurt, but then Josh stepped forward and hugged him, pressing his cheek against Sam's jaw and holding him tightly enough that it hurt, but in the best way. Sam hugged him back the same way, if a little more cautiously, his nose pressed just behind Josh's ear, until Josh let go and pulled away. “I gotta go... do the thing.” 

“Yeah.” Sam stepped out of the cloakroom after Josh, standing and watching while he hit the elevator button. The doors opened immediately, and Josh stepped into them and was gone, just like that. Sam stayed anyway, watching the doors for a long time and not caring that the agents stared. Finally he shook himself and went back inside to find Donna.


	17. Getting High On Information

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION! This is the second of two chapters I have posted today! If you have not read the previous chapter from Sam's POV, this chapter will not make nearly as much sense as it ought to! Go read that one first, then come read this one.

Donna followed CJ out of the sitting room, still quietly glowing from her conversation with the President. She'd known her leaving would affect Josh, had known her senior assistant friends would miss her. It had never occurred to her that the President might mark her absence at all, certainly not enough to gently scold her for not saying goodbye. Heady stuff for a college dropout from Madison, Wisconsin! Heady stuff, she reminded herself firmly, for a lead researcher from Los Angeles who would have a degree in another year. Part of her had hated to leave that cozy room, but she couldn't exactly ignore the fact that Josh was just a few steps away and they had things to talk about. 

She looked into the kitchenette and saw that he was still there, but this time his shirt was unbuttoned and opened while Abbey listened intently to his heart with a stethoscope. He seemed to feel her watching, raising his head to meet her look again for a moment before deliberately turning away. Donna took the hint and backed off. In the days after Rosslyn, she'd gone to his doctor's appointments with him, taking notes and asking questions, had even learned to change his bandages when the movements were too awkward and painful for him to handle it alone. But that was a long time ago and they were different people now. Whatever relationship they had from here on out, it would be different.

She spent a few minutes talking with Carol about the new deputy position, and took the opportunity to pass along Ginger's souvenirs. A trip on Air Force One would get them there sooner and save on postage. In return, Carol grilled her on her new life in LA, how much she loved the beach, whether there were any hot wannabe actors working in the restaurants near her, and how she was liking her job. She didn't touch on romance at all, and Donna wasn't sure whether that was a studied omission until Carol looked over Donna's shoulder and murmured, “Looks like they're done in the kitchen now, if you want to talk to him.” 

“Oh, thanks.” Donna could feel herself starting to blush, but did her best to look unaffected as she walked over towards the kitchenette. The First Lady brushed past her on the way, off to store her bag in one of the spare bedrooms, probably. “Hello, Mrs. Bartlet,” Donna said politely. 

That earned her a friendly, if distracted smile. “Oh, hello Donna! I hoped we'd see you and Sam visit us tonight. Are you enjoying the convention?” 

“Absolutely,” Donna said with a smile. “It's kind of nice watching one and not having to work behind the scenes for it.” 

“I imagine so,” Abbey chuckled. “Well, Jed's been looking forward to seeing you; he watched a documentary on volcanoes the other night and no one is quite excited enough about it.” 

“I look forward to hearing about it,” Donna replied honestly, but couldn't keep from sneaking a glance towards the kitchen. 

It was obviously not a sneaky enough glance. Abbey followed her look and smiled ruefully. “I think I'll head in and watch the softball game now. Good luck.” 

“Thank you, ma'am,” Donna murmured, and continued into the tiny kitchen. Josh was standing at the sink with a glass in his hand, tossing back a couple of pills with his usual grimace. All at once, she had no idea what to say. “Josh?” 

There was no sign of surprise when he heard her, instead he slowly set the cup down and turned in her direction. “Donna.” His voice was clean of inflection, his face blank enough to give her no clues. Only his eyes showed any emotion at all, and it was something she couldn't begin to read. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked inanely. 

“What does it look like?” 

“You still look like hell.” 

“That's about right, then.” His lips twisted in parody of a smile. “Doctor Bartlet is very displeased with my blood pressure. She should've seen me two weeks ago; if somebody stuck me with a needle it probably would've frothed.” 

Donna suppressed the automatic urge to yell at him for not taking care of himself, suppressed as well the fear that came from knowing he wasn't. “She has reason to be displeased. Your pulmonary artery-” 

“Spare me the lecture, Dr. Moss.” He rolled his eyes. “I know that one of these days I'm going to get a little too worked up and pop like a grape. But hey, I'll win the news cycle again, right?” 

“Don't talk like that!” Donna snapped, folding her arms tight across her chest. “It's not funny.” 

He actually looked apologetic for a moment. “I took the medicine,” he offered. 

“Both kinds?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, unfolded her arms. This was not going... actually, it was going pretty much exactly like she'd thought it would, just not really the way she'd hoped it might. “I talked to Danny Concannon earlier.” 

“Oh yeah?” Josh looked grateful for the change in topic. “I've been dodging calls from him. Was he looking for a West Coast scoop, or asking whether CJ's been talking about him during study hall?” 

For a moment, Donna hesitated. She could keep the information to herself and probably do Josh's blood pressure a favor tonight. It would certainly be better for her own peace of mind. But Josh took protecting his guy very seriously, and withholding this kind of information might be something he wouldn't forgive, no matter the extenuating circumstances.“Neither, actually.” She leaned back against the table. “Maybe a little with the study hall thing. But he wanted to pass along a tip.” 

Josh snorted. “Why would he pass along a tip to you?” When her eyes narrowed, he seemed to realize he'd made a tactical mistake and backtracked hastily. “I mean, you're not in politics anymore. You haven't even visited DC in six months. You're out of the game.” 

“Only for now,” she reminded him primly, making him cock his head in curiosity. Still, he didn't ask. “And he talked to me because he knows I can get in touch with anybody I need to, including you. Seems you've been dodging his calls.” 

“I've been busy,” Josh sulked. They both knew he was dodging the inevitable post-mortem interviews, where reporters dissected everything that had gone right and wrong to bring an insurgent campaign out of nowhere and send it back to nowhere just as quickly. “What's he got?” 

“A credible source that says Hoynes nearly self-destructed during the primary from a sex scandal juicier than the ones he's been through already,” Donna told him, her voice quick and even. “They managed to bury it while Jason Trinley was self-destructing the Russell Campaign, but it's not gone. Danny couldn't give me any details, except that it's newer than Helen Baldwin, and younger than her too. He says the story's still out there and it's a matter of time.” 

Josh stood transfixed for a moment, his eyes seeming to go unfocused. She knew there were worlds unfolding in his head, whole chains of probability writing and rewriting themselves, maps full of electoral numbers shifting. She waited, let him process, and nearly jumped out of her skin when he growled “Dammit!” and lashed out at his empty glass, sending it flying. Luckily, even in the penthouse suite most of the glasses were plastic, and it merely shot into the sink and went bouncing around crazily for a moment as Josh began to pace. “Dammit, dammit, dammit! He tells us this now?” 

“I don't think he's known for very long,” Donna pointed out. “I'm sure if he'd known about it before Santos dropped out-” 

“We could've won!” Josh spun to face her, both hands in his hair with a grip that looked painful. “If this had come out during the primary, we could've won! We should've won! And now... goddammit!” He kicked a chair, sending it clattering against the wall. 

Donna leapt up before he could find more things to damage, grabbing his arms in both hands. “Maybe it would and maybe it wouldn't,” she told him, fast and intense. “But it's done now, it's too late. You have to move on with the information you have now. Don't let Santos stump for Hoynes, don't let him stand too close. You know how to write an endorsement that doesn't condone, you can do it now. Whatever's coming down on Hoynes doesn't have to land on Santos, and then he's still the party's golden boy in four years. It'll be okay.” 

He stared at her for a moment from inches away, then squeezed his eyes shut and rested his forehead against hers. “We should've won, Donna,” he whispered, a world of pain and misery and guilt in his voice. “Whatever it was, I should've seen it. We should've won.” 

Donna closed her eyes too, the only way she could cope with having him so very close. She raised a hand and ran it along his cheek, through his flyaway curls, along the knotted muscles of his neck. “You should've won,” she agreed in a murmur, “but there was no way you could've known. It wasn't your fault.” 

“Yeah, it was.” Even with her eyes closed, Donna could feel the muscles of his face working, could hear the mirthless smile in his voice. “I was the campaign manager, everything's my fault. Goes with the territory.” 

“Josh...” She was sorry when he pulled away from her, but at least it let her breathe again. He went back to pacing the tiny kitchenette, his hands clenched. “There's nothing more you can do about it now. You're not going to work for Hoynes, right?” 

“Hell no,” Josh denied with a hint of his trademark swagger. “It'd be a cold day in South Texas.” 

“Then you're done,” she pointed out simply. “Santos has a congressional staff, he has a speechwriter. You can tell them what they need to say and how, but besides that, you're done with this election cycle. All that's left to do is vote.” She could see the moment when the words registered with him. He leaned back against the sink and stared at the tile patterns in the floor. “You don't have to be the campaign manager anymore. You don't have to be the deputy chief of staff. You can do anything you want.” She took a half-step forward, her heart in her throat. “You're not my boss anymore.” 

Josh looked up and met her eyes, and for a moment Donna was sure that finally, after eight godawful long years of waiting, he was finally looking back at her. There was so much in his eyes, his face... In an instant it was as though a door slammed shut, as he all but jumped backwards and away from her. “Yeah, I guess that's true. I've got to decide what I'm going to do next. Can't go back to the White House, I'd punch that asshole Calley on day one and CJ would kick my ass. There's teaching, I guess, or writing. I could go down to Florida and write a book on how not to win a presidential election.” His eyes were a bit too wide, his words just a little too fast. 

Donna resisted the urge to rub a hand over her chest to try and soothe the growing ache there. This wasn't going to go how she wanted, she reminded herself, but if she didn't try she would regret it even more. “You could stay in California,” she suggested, taking another step towards him. “It's beautiful here, and you could rest, regroup. It's been so long since there was any time to just relax and talk to each other. Sam would take you out on his boat, and I can show you the best takeout restaurants and all the museums, and you can pretend you don't like them, and we could catch up on all the movies we never got a chance to see. And in eighteen months, Sam's going to run for the Senate, and we could all do it together, just like old times on the first campaign-” She realized she was babbling like a crazy woman and cut herself off, searching his face for any signs of anything. “I'd really like you to stay,” she finally admitted. “I miss you.” 

One more time she took a step forward, this time bringing her mouth to his in a kiss that was light, tentative, and deeply heartfelt. She rested a hand on his chest and felt him shudder, felt his heart race, but he didn't move. Didn't pull away, didn't respond at all. She drew back and looked into his eyes, and had no idea what she was seeing there. Certainly nothing she'd hoped to see. She stepped backwards, one step and then another until she bumped the table with her thighs, her fingers curling into a loose fist as she pressed her knuckles against her lips. 

“I'm sorry,” he told her, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I can't... I can't do this right now. I've got to go save the Congressman and then... I've got to leave. You've got a great setup here, you've got everything going for you,” he reminded her, his voice a little stronger now even as she fought to keep her face from crumpling. “You're the one with the world ahead of you now. You don't need to be looking back and letting me drag you down.” 

Donna stared at him, her throat too full to let her speak, not knowing what she would say if she could. She watched him shift from foot to foot, obviously incredibly uneasy, and promised herself anything in the world that she wanted if she would just not cry in front of him right now. Josh was terrible at breakups but he was worse with tears, and how odd this must be for him, needing to make a breakup speech for a relationship that had only ever existed in her mind. 

Josh raked his hands through his hair, giving it a vicious tug that probably did nothing to help his rapidly retreating hairline. “Anyway,” he said awkwardly, “I need to get Danny on the phone, and go talk to the Congressman, and... go. I'm sorry,” he said again, and for the life of her she couldn't understand why his voice cracked on the last word. He leaned in fractionally, and for a moment she wondered if he were going to pat her arm or kiss her forehead or something else brotherly and horrible, but in the end he just rocked back on his heels, turned and left, picking up his rumpled jacket as he went. 

Her head turned automatically to watch him go, but that seemed to be the only part of Donna's body willing to move right away. She felt numb and shaky and sluggish all over, like maybe it would be better just to sit down someplace dark and never come out again. Almost immediately on the heels of that, she began to feel stupid. Really damn stupid. And then very sad. And then very lonely. Despite the dull tingles in her fingertips, her body seemed to be in okay working order as she hurried for the nearest bathroom, closing herself in just in time for a short but extremely necessary crying jag. 

She was just finishing up, washing her face with an exquisitely soft hotel washcloth and some very nice jasmine soap, when there was a light tap on the door. “Donna?” came CJ's tentative voice. “Are you all right?” 

Donna hastily dried her face and tucked her hair behind her ears, surveying herself critically in the mirror. Pretty terrible, she admitted, but that was the curse of alabaster skin. “I'm fine,” she called out, pulling the door open. She watched CJ take in her blotchy face and red nose. “I had a contact lens slip behind my eye” she claimed. “Took forever to get it out.” 

This was the most fundamental of all the social lies, and no true friend would ever question such a thing in mixed company, even if the person making the claim did not actually wear contacts. CJ didn't so much as twitch an eyelash. “I hate when that happens,” she agreed. “I've got some saline drops and Visine in my purse, you're welcome to them.” She gave Donna's shoulder one quick and reassuring squeeze as they walked back into the main room and were once again ignored. Sometimes young interns with one-track minds could be real assets. 

From the main room she could hear Josh's voice somewhere near the front door as he tried to bargain himself into a sit-down meeting with Danny, who was obviously wise to all Josh's best tricks and had no intention of being brow-beaten for his source. “I'm just going to go back in the other room,” she told CJ, accepting the little bottles the Chief of Staff pushed into her hand. 

“All right,” CJ told her, “but don't ask about volcanoes until you're really ready to know about volcanoes. He's in rare form.” Donna smiled faintly and nodded. It was obvious that CJ was desperately curious about what she and Josh had been talking about, but there was no way she could discuss it now, not even obliquely. Maybe over the phone, once she was safely back in Los Angeles. For the moment, she slipped back into the sitting room, moving quietly and hoping to find a seat unnoticed. 

Donna could feel Sam watching her the second she walked in, and as he got up she realized he didn't even know Josh was here. That struck her as almost funny. When he asked if she was okay, she reassured him she was fine, then told him about Josh, as much as she could manage, anyway. It wasn't a lot, but he understood. Sam could understand like nobody else. When he offered her a hug, she almost took it, but the fact that Kinley was in the room was problematic, as was the fact that she really, really didn't want to cry again. She hurried off into an entirely different bathroom this time, knowing without looking that Sam would go find Josh. 

The bottles CJ had given her turned out to be not saline solution, but Visine and a little airplane bottle of Stoli. Donna laughed at the offering, even as she uncapped it and tossed half of it back in one gulp. It did seem to help. The Visine, another face wash, and a quick hit of foundation fixed her up the rest of the way, and by the time she rejoined the President's entourage, she was entirely back in form. It turned out that there really were a lot of things she didn't know about volcanoes, but Donna was more than happy to learn. When Sam came back in, he looked drained and sad but not despairing, so she scooted over and let him sit down on the loveseat between her and Kinley, then gave his hand a quick, surreptitious squeeze of thanks and support. He gave her a faint smile, and they both turned their attention back to the President.


	18. These Kind of Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a new chapter for you all, because I'm kind of on a roll this week! I've been giving my attention to another, unpublished WIP and that always makes me feel guilty and come back to the story in progress. This is the last convention chapter, next chapter we'll be with Josh for a little hop forward in time. Thank you all for your enthusiastic feedback, it's what brings me back again and again.

It was late by the time Donna returned to her hotel room, but she wasn't particularly tired. It was always intellectually stimulating to trade trivia with the President, whether it was the types of rock found in volcanic formations or the particulars of movies released long before she'd been born, or even a brief retread of national parks. Sam and Kinley had begged off hours ago, as had Zoey and Charlie, and Leo and CJ were in and out most of the evening doing Important Things, but Donna had stuck around (as had Will, another trivia buff when he wasn't sleeping), until Mrs. Bartlet had kicked them out and taken her husband off to bed. The warm glow of companionship had done a lot to ease the pain of rejection, but back in her room and on her own again, the ache was seeping back in. 

She kicked off her shoes and clothes and bra, sliding into an oversize t-shirt and rainbow-striped flannel pants, then went to peruse the mini-bar. Donna knew better than to get drunk alone because she was sad, but a little Irish coffee sounded just about right. Switching on the television for noise, she set the coffeepot to brew decaf and dug into her suitcase for her favorite throw blanket and plug-in diffuser. Small touches, she'd learned in hundreds of nights on the road, were what made a hotel room into a little temporary home. In just a few minutes, the room smelled of coffee and fresh linen, and the soft drone of C-SPAN filled the air. Donna considered for a moment, remembering a hundred hotel room nights with C-SPAN running in someone else's room, then changed the channel to Discovery. 

She'd poured her coffee into her own pretty ceramic mug and was debating whether whiskey would curdle powdered creamer when there was a knock at the door, soft enough that she might not have heard it in her sleep. Cup in hand, she opened the door for Sam, who was still in his day clothes, though his tie was gone and his top two buttons undone. He also looked ragged and tired, and as unsettled as she herself felt. “I thought you'd be sleeping,” she commented as she stood back to let him in. “You went back hours ago.” 

“My sleep plans were interrupted,” Sam replied, plopping unceremoniously onto the end of Donna's bed. “Kinley wanted to have a serious discussion about our differing perspectives on the future of our relationship. Apparently the convention has brought a number of things into focus for her that somehow weren't clear before.” He ran both hands over his face but somehow managed to avoid his hair, which was still incongruously perfect. “She decided to go home early. She didn't want me to come with her.” 

Donna sighed and set the coffee aside, then sat down next to Sam and wrapped a comforting arm around him. “She doesn't like politics,” she reminded him quietly. “I don't think it's a matter of not being familiar with them, I think she's actually uncomfortable about them. And being with you means being in politics on the very highest levels.”

Sam shook his head, but didn't shake off her arm. “I just don't... I can't... why the hell not?” he demanded. 

She patted his arm. “Sam... how much did you really have in common with her, besides you both being lawyers and living in LA?” 

He was quiet for a minute, staring down at his hands. “I really liked her, though. And maybe I wanted to have just one romantic relationship that didn't end up ruined by politics.” 

Donna pursed her lips and watched him ruminate. “Has it ever occurred to you,” she finally offered, “that maybe you're not dating the right women? That maybe you need a politician?” 

“I'm afraid of women politicians,” he admitted with a faint smile. “They're all a lot tougher than I am.” 

“Hmm,” she agreed, conceding the point. “Plus there's the Amy Gardner problem, all the competing interests...” They both grimaced at that reminder. “Maybe a pundit, a staffer, an ex-politician... we know a lot of people.” 

“Are you trying to get me laid, Donna?” he asked, sounding at least a little amused. 

“It's my duty as your closest female friend,” she informed him soberly. “Plus, at least one of us needs to have a love life. How am I supposed to live vicariously through you if we're both lonely and alone?” Realizing she may have revealed a bit more than she'd planned there, Donna stood up and carried her coffee to the minibar, recklessly adding the creamer, sugar and whiskey. “Do you want some of this? It's decaf.” 

“Please.” Sam leaned back on the bed to watch her at work, his expression thoughtful. “I wanted to ask you earlier, but it didn't seem to be the right time. What happened with you and Josh tonight?” 

“We talked, briefly.” 

“You're not the type to cry for no reason.” 

Donna shrugged, keeping her back to him as she poured coffee into one of the hotel's styrofoam cups. “He told me that he hasn't been taking his medication and his blood pressure is way up. I told him Danny Concannon told me that Hoynes is heading for another sex scandal and there's pretty much no way to get in front of it, just out of the way. He was pissed and frantic, obviously, so I decided to put the topper on it by telling him I wanted him to stay in California now that he isn't my boss anymore, and I tried to kiss him.” She measured a few spoonfuls of whiskey into the cup, then poured the rest into her own mug. “That went down like a lead balloon, obviously, and he took off.” She was very proud of how even her voice stayed the whole time. 

“You asked him to stay?” Sam repeated softly. Donna nodded, not meeting his eyes as she handed him his coffee. Her own was growing tepid now, and she swallowed it like medicine. 

“I wanted... god, I don't even know what I was thinking. He was such a wreck, and I wanted to take care of him, and even when he's falling apart he's still so passionate and protective and determined, and I still have all these feelings inside me that I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to resolve.” Donna slumped down onto the bed, and this time Sam put his arm around her. “At least I know where he stands now, I guess.” she finished, staring down into her coffee mug. 

He squeezed her shoulders and kissed the side of her head, resting his lips against her hair for a moment. “He's in a bad place right now,” Sam finally said. “I saw him as he was leaving, and the look on his face...” Sam sighed, and she could feel the warmth of it against her scalp. “I want to take care of him too, but we can't exactly pin him down and make him get better. He told me he's going to Florida to stay with his mom for awhile. Maybe it'll help.” 

“She'll whip him into shape if anybody can,” Donna agreed with a faint smile. “If nothing else, she's got guilt on her side. He knows she can't take another member of her family dying before her.” She knocked back the rest of her coffee, even as Sam sipped at his. “God, Sam, look at us. A couple of disasters. We spent the day at the convention, then the whole evening with the President and our friends, we should be happy.” She hitched her legs up on the bed, sitting crosslegged with her knee against his thigh. “Tell me something good.” 

“I am absolutely certain that Josh didn't leave because he didn't want to kiss you back. He probably wanted it more than he could handle,” Sam told her seriously. 

Donna fell backwards onto the bed without uncrossing her legs, a fairly impressive act of flexibility. “That is not the way to make me stop feeling depressed, Sam Seaborn.” 

He leaned back on one arm and looked at her. “You say something good, then.” 

“CJ keeps vodka in her purse.” 

Sam cocked his head. “You know, I always kind of suspected that about her. And maybe a switchblade too.” 

“Wouldn't surprise me, but I only saw the vodka. She probably saves the switchblade for the press corps.” Donna turned her head to look at him. “Okay, now you.” 

He thought for a minute. “I still love politics,” he told her, his voice filled with conviction. “I got pummeled by it, ran away from it, lost pretty much every person I ever dated to it, but on days like today I remember why it's so important and why I'm sticking with it.” 

“That's a good one,” she agreed, smiling for real now. “I thought you were going to say something about those bacon-wrapped crackers, you probably ate twenty of them.” 

“Canapes are one of the many reasons to love politics, Donna. I was being efficient,” he told her, mock-supercilious. 

“Remind me to tell you about Will and the olives sometime.” she countered with a snicker. 

“I have heard about the olives at length from Will,” Sam assured her. “And the goat, the bicycles, the five pounds of cheddar-” 

“It was Little Block of Cheese Day!” she told him gleefully. 

“And the five thousand purple post-it notes. It's no wonder he left to run his own campaign.” 

“The post-it notes were his own fault. He implied that Ginger colored her hair and he had to be punished.” Donna was very definite about that. 

“Well, God forbid.” Sam snorted. “Anyway, I know for a fact that Ginger colors her hair, because she did it once in the campaign HQ in Des Moines. I walked into that bathroom and thought someone had been murdered.”

“That is completely beside the point,” Donna insisted. “He's not supposed to say it!” 

“That's ridiculous.” Sam scoffed. 

Donna reached above her head and found a pillow, brought it down and whacked Sam with it. “I hate to tell you this, but politics is not the reason you can't keep a girlfriend.” 

“Hey!” Sam reached out and grabbed the pillow. “I'm freshly wounded here!” 

“Yeah, but it's laugh or cry, right?” She tugged on the pillow, but he had a pretty good grip. “It was never gonna work out, she was never gonna be okay with what you do, he was never gonna stick around. You and I have both had horrible, shitty relationships in the past that were bad for us, so you know how it goes.” She rolled onto her side to look him straight in the eye., speaking intently. “You're going to be the president someday, Sam, and there's going to be somebody who loves everything that you are, the brilliant politician and the adorable nerd, and I'm going to make both those things happen for you, and that's a promise.” 

He studied her in silence for a moment. “I believe you,” he finally said, reaching out to brush a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “No matter how far I go, you're going to be right there with me, because you're the cleverest, most dedicated person I know, and there's nothing you want that you can't get. You deserve to have men falling at your feet, begging for the scraps of your attention. You deserve somebody who is ready to give you everything, and you're going to find that too. Promise.” 

She gave him a smile that was only a tiny bit watery. “You're damn right.” She reached up to where his hand rested in her hair and twined her fingers with his. “We've got to be up in five and a half hours if we want to watch the start of the delegate roll call. Want to watch a movie?” 

He smiled and squeezed her fingers, then rolled comfortably onto his back, wedging the stolen pillow behind him. “Sounds good to me. I'm not really that interested in hearing two thousand votes for John Hoynes anyway.” 

“Tell me about it.” Donna sat up in the bed and reached for the remote, leaning back against the headboard. “At this point it's all over but the weeping.”


	19. Interlude III: Don't Carry Me Too Far Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new Interlude chapter today! Most of the notes for this chapter will be at the end. Hope you enjoy!

The weeks between concession and convention were nightmarish, but like a nightmare, they blurred mercifully quickly in Josh's memory. The campaign apparatus he'd spent six months constructing had to be dismantled as quickly and cheaply as possible, while burning no unnecessary bridges for the future. Josh wrote letters of recommendation, called on old colleagues in and out of government, personally packed up boxes and helped clean out offices, anything to get his people into new jobs and on with their lives as quickly as possible. Some joined the Hoynes campaign, of course, but a surprising number were unwilling to follow the prohibitive nominee into the general election. There seemed to be an overwhelming sense of “we came to win, but not with him” pervading the disintegrating wreckage of the Santos campaign. Ronna and Bram were both very helpful with the details, as was Whatsisname the finance guy, but it was still a huge job, and one that he had no real experience with. Josh didn't know how to run a losing campaign. 

The candidate himself seemed to take the loss considerably more philosophically than his campaign manager. Matt Santos was disappointed, of course. They'd come so far, only to falter in the last days of the primary, but it had been far from futile as far as he was concerned. Hoynes had promised to make education a priority on his agenda, and the extended school year was actually gaining some traction among members of Congress who had seen its popularity. His other tentpole issue, health care, was suddenly a centerpiece of the restructured Hoynes campaign as well. Santos had come to talk about the issues and he'd done that, done it well enough that a nation had paid attention, and he'd retired the field when it was time. Now he could go back to Congress and to his family with the knowledge that the next time he wanted to make a political move, he had some very important people happy with him. It also didn't hurt that the Hoynes for President campaign would be, through a series of complicated and carefully legal financial maneuvers, doing some fundraising for the dormant Santos campaign, enough to retire the campaign's debts and pay off the mortgage he'd taken out on his house. 

Josh was relieved that there had been no angry meltdowns, no yelling or assigning of blame from the Congressman; it would only have distracted him from doing all of that to himself, much more quietly and efficiently. He didn't yell at the staff anymore, or race wildly from place to place like he was the bunny at a greyhound track. His steps were measured, his voice even, almost dull. He returned to his hotel room at hours that were nearly reasonable, despite the fact that he rarely slept, and used the time to do things like assemble and send out his own dry cleaning and think about what he would do with the rest of his life. Nothing sprang immediately to mind. He thought about calling Donna, calling Sam, calling CJ or Toby or Leo just to hear their voices. He thought about their sympathy, their disguised pity, their anger that he'd discarded and abandoned them to pursue a ridiculous and fruitless quest. He thought about how the President had barely been able to walk when Josh had gone in to offer his resignation, and about the flicker of hurt in Donna's eyes when he wouldn't hug her in Los Angeles. He wasn't sure if it would be easier to have their pity or their anger, and suspected he wouldn't be able to cope with either. 

By the time the Democratic National Convention rolled around, the Santos campaign was down to Matt and Helen, Josh, Ronna, and Ned. Ronna and Ned had both transitioned back to being on the Congressman's office staff, so Josh was really the last remnant and technically unemployed. Santos was a good man and had offered to let the campaign incur just a little more debt so that Josh could get his last paycheck, but the money was never the issue. His bank account balance was healthy enough, and selling his DC townhouse would get him seed money to start again wherever he wanted to hole up and lick his wounds. Being the last one out the door was a strange experience, unsettling and isolating. He concentrated all his attention on positioning the Congressman for the future. A Cabinet post if he wanted it, work with the DNC, a future political run, Josh owed him that much for six months in hell. When the convention was over and Santos went back to Congress, Josh figured that would be the time for him to figure out the rest of his own life. 

Even failed campaigns got a seat at the table at the convention, so long as they were campaigns that had played ball and united the party when it was time. Josh made sure that the Congressman and his family got VIP treatment and badges, and that he himself would be able to stay backstage and still see everything that was going on. He realized quickly that the half-lit backstage areas were the best place for him to be, with far fewer acquaintances and casual friends telling him how terrible he looked and asking if he was all right. He ate burgers and fries from the concession stands, but usually threw them away when the burgers were undercooked and there were way too many fries with nobody stealing them. His stomach wasn't tolerating much besides Mylanta these days anyway. 

The first night of the official convention was definitely the worst, because that's when the President came to speak. Josh tried to make himself scarce, but CJ hadn't controlled her boys for seven years without being able to find one when she wanted him. She collared him in an access corridor half an hour before the speech, and before he knew what was happening, he was on the hook for a presidential audience later, and being dragged toward the stage to watch the speech in person. He kept his gaze constantly moving, not wanting to see whatever was in CJ's eyes when she looked at him. The spot where he chose to stand was mercifully isolated, hidden almost entirely by a bank of speakers, but still afforded him a view of stage and audience. If he hadn't left, he'd have been watching the audience avidly to gauge their response to this last major speech, but that wasn't his job anymore. 

Instead his gaze wandered over the crowd aimlessly, stopping only when he caught a flash of familiar golden hair and pale skin. It shouldn't have surprised him that Donna and Sam were attending the convention and sitting close to the front; where else would they be? Donna was watching the stage, her eyes as wide and captivated as they'd been eight years ago when he'd stood next to her, muttering to her about revenge against rogue delegates as she'd watched Governor Bartlet accept the nomination. Eight years ago, Sam had been on Josh's other side as they'd all stood backstage, murmuring the words of the speech aloud under his breath, grabbing Josh's shoulder to get his attention during the particularly good parts. Now, at the close of that same era, Sam whispered into Donna's ear instead, making her chuckle and smack his arm playfully while she tried to concentrate. 

Josh's stomach began to burn from more than just an ulcer and excess stomach acid. He could recognize jealousy, but damned if he knew what he was jealous of, or even who. He just knew he wanted to be there with them like before, wanted to distract Donna from her fascination, wanted Sam whispering inanities in his ear. He wanted something to stop this endless moment of freefall. How could they be so happy and normal when he was dissolving into nothing? Because they'd escaped, he reminded himself. Their happiness was a painful little affirmation of his decision to stay the hell away from them. He thumbed another antacid out of the roll in his pocket and looked away. 

He'd planned on slipping away after the speech and pleading traffic for a reason not to obey the summons from President Bartlet, but almost as soon as he was done speaking, the President wanted to speak with Matt Santos, and Josh had to be close by for that. It was a very gracious conversation that ended with an invitation to Matt and Helen to the White House for dinner. No sooner was that done than CJ had him by the arm again, keeping up a rapidfire conversation with Will about media management with no effort while dragging him to the motorcade. She put him in the car with Leo, who tried reminding him one more time about how it was no shame to not win the first run with an outsider candidate. All Josh could think about, though, was Angela Blake and months on the bench, and Leo reminding him how no one wanted him there. Nothing Josh was ever going to talk about out loud, of course, but that didn't keep him from replaying it over and over in his mind. Leo asked how his mother was doing, Josh said she was fine. Leo said Florida was nice this time of year, Josh said he'd heard that too. They were silent for the rest of the car ride. 

The President was already in his suite by the time the tail end of the motorcade disembarked, so there was nothing for it except to take the long elevator ride up to the penthouse suite and present himself like the prodigal... not son, really, but nephew, or maybe the neighbor's prodigal kid. President Bartlet was in an effusive mood that evening, and shook Josh's hand while giving him a hard time about his wrinkled suit and general mien of sleeplessness. Luckily Josh was a politician, so shaking hands and smiling and chuckling politely were all brainstem-level functions. It was enough to satisfy the President, but Zoey had given him a truly memorable stink eye, and before he knew it, Mrs. Bartlet was hustling him into a corner to quiz him about his many bad habits. Her fingers curled around his wrist almost felt good, the first non-incidental, non-handshake touch he'd felt in months, but then she started in with the scolding and he tuned her out. 

There was movement and a flash of gold in the hallway outside, and he'd looked up automatically to see Donna watching him, impossibly blue eyes somber as she met his gaze for a moment, then passed through the door and was gone. Sam was with her too, but he was escorting some woman and not paying attention as he passed. Josh entertained the thought of escaping before they came back out, but Donna was back before Mrs. Bartlet even let him put his shirt back on, leaving him naked, exposed and vulnerable to Donna's probing look. He turned away pointedly, but that only put her off for as long as it took the First Lady to finish her examination and give him a very hard time about his health. It was nothing he hadn't heard before, but to pacify her, he fished his pills from the bottom of his backpack and took them. By the time he finished he could feel Donna watching him again, and this time he was pinned down without excuse or escape. 

Up close in the quiet, it was easy to see how much she'd changed. She wasn't pouting or flitting or fidgeting, even though he knew she had to be uncomfortable. Once she would've teased answers out of him, now she just asked questions outright and expected him to answer, ignoring his efforts at misdirection. Once she would've been completely incapable of handling the kind of bombshell Danny Concannon had passed to her, now she not only knew how to deliver it, she understood what he needed to do about it, and when, and why. Now she grabbed his arms to stop his fruitless tantrum, now she let him touch her face without blushing, now she said things that neither of them had ever allowed themselves to say before. Now she asked him to stay with her. Now she kissed him, and his senses were overwhelmed with warm sweetness, and the feeling of the earth falling away below his feet even faster. 

All he wanted, the only thing he could conceive of ever wanting in that moment, was to wrap his arms around her and kiss her back, learn the taste of her mouth and the way her voice sounded against his lips when she said his name. But if he wrapped his arms around her, she would be falling with him, and she didn't deserve that. He was an unemployed, middle-aged man with terrible blood pressure, post-traumatic stress disorder, a pulmonary artery with a highly limited lifetime warranty, and a brand-new ulcer. Donna was a recklessly compassionate woman, or maybe both reckless and compassionate, she would ignore all of those things that should keep them apart because to her they wouldn't matter. She'd throw away her bright future for him, just like Sam might have once. He'd been here before, or close enough, he knew what he had to do; he'd just have to explain it somehow so that she would understand. 

Except that the words wouldn't come, not when she pulled away from his unresponsiveness, not when he could see her fighting back tears as she put space between them. Not when all he wanted to do was kiss the fingers she held over her mouth and tell her how sorry he was for eight years of never giving her enough. He stammered out nonsense words, tried to give her some kind of explanation of why he had to go without spilling everything, then ran away with what little dignity he could muster. She was already starting to pull herself back together, and he didn't want to watch her do that without the pieces that were him. At the last instant he leaned in, wanting maybe to touch her one last time, just her hand or her hair, something to take with him, but she flinched subtly and he pulled away and walked out. Thank god, thank god, thank god he had something to do again, something that would keep him busy and occupy his thoughts tonight. 

He stood in the elevator lobby and harangued Danny Concannon for awhile, not because he thought he'd get the source, but just because he needed someone to yell at. Danny, being a good friend and a perceptive journalist, let him go on longer than he normally would've before telling Josh that he needed to get his head out of his ass and his life sorted out, then hanging up. That obviously wasn't going to happen any time soon, but Josh didn't feel like calling back just to tell him that. While he was trying to put on his sadly abused jacket, Sam appeared out of nowhere and suddenly Josh was aching all over again. It really didn't seem fair. Josh dug in and managed some bluster, but Sam cut through it with a weary frustration that Josh didn't recognize in him. Before Josh knew what was happening, Sam had him by the arm and was dragging him into the empty cloakroom, away from prying eyes. If Josh were feeling any better he might have made a joke- no, he probably wouldn't have. The idea of him and Sam standing in a closet and arguing about the future was a little too on-the-nose to be funny. 

Sam was full of questions, about Josh's health, his plans, what he'd done to hurt Donna. Josh didn't have any good answers for him on any of it. He was still casting about for any plausible means of escape when Sam caught his chin in one hand and lifted his gaze. Josh's breath caught in his throat. Where Donna's eyes were blue like the ocean, changing in hue with the hour and the weather, Sam's were blue like the summer sky, always brilliant, always intense. Those eyes on his, Sam's fingers on his skin, the closeness of their bodies, all of it reminded him of the doors he'd closed seven years ago and the doors he'd slammed shut tonight, till he was all but choking on the anger and grief. Then Sam asked why he was running away, and for a second Josh wanted to punch him, and for a second he wanted to kiss him, but instead he pulled away and flattened himself to the wall like a trapped animal and begged Sam to just let him go. Sam did, but not without first extracting a promise that Josh would somehow fix all the things that were wrong with him. It seemed like an awfully tall order, but Sam wasn't in the mood to take no for an answer, and Josh had to get out before he crumbled. He hugged Sam one more time, one last time, and escaped into the waiting elevator. He'd gone ten floors before he realized how badly his hands were shaking. 

Matt wasn't entirely happy to be pulled from his bed at midnight when he wasn't even running for president anymore, but Josh hadn't bothered to check the time and that was immaterial anyway. He'd spent two hours riding around LA in a taxi, alternately trying to remember the name of his hotel and making calls to most of the political operatives he knew, trying to get hold of the story without letting anybody know there was a story. It was a high-wire act, but it was something he was actually good at, something he could easily lose himself inside. By the time he remembered where he was staying and got there to wake his former boss, he had enough information to work out a strategy. Informing the Congressman that they might have won the nomination if Josh had been more on the ball had been mildly excruciating, but his other conversations that night had at least given him some perspective on relative pain. By sunrise, they'd mapped out a strategy and redrafted the endorsement speech, then sent it off to the national committee for review. Annabeth Schott was no slouch, and Josh knew she'd wonder why they'd done the eleventh hour rewrite, but there was nothing in it to actually object to. Josh was so tired he fell into bed and got three amazing, precious hours of dreamless sleep before a housekeeper accidentally woke him up. 

The speech the Congressman would give was actually in the midafternoon, before the delegate counts were taken, but it would be right at the start of primetime for the East Coast. It was largely symbolic, a reminder that all the people who voted for him ought to vote for the nominee and the Democratic Party. Thanks to the last minute rewrite, Santos talked about education, and he talked about healthcare, and he talked about all the good the Bartlet administration had done. He talked about sound Democratic platforms and the need for party unity and the importance of taking America in a direction that everyone could believe in. He only mentioned John Hoynes' name twice in his entire speech. The audience didn't seem to care, they ate up the speech gleefully and then did their duty as good little delegates. By the time John Hoynes was done giving his first official speech as the nominee, Josh was on a plane heading east, heading for the one place that had to take him in. 

Upon arriving in Florida, Josh kissed his mother, turned off his cell phone, and proceeded to say and do almost nothing for three straight days. He crawled into his teenagehood bed, now sitting in a tastefully decorated guest room in his mom's condo, and finally got the sleep he'd been putting off for so long. It wasn't always particularly pleasant sleep, but he slept through most of the dreams, too tired to wake himself up partway through. He'd wake periodically, disoriented and sweaty, change his clothes and stumble downstairs for food. There were always some leftovers in the fridge, and sometimes he'd warm them up, sometimes eat them cold from the tupperware, standing in front of the refrigerator like a sorry-looking bear who'd found his way into a house. His mother took messages and left them by the phone in her neat handwriting, but he didn't read them. Sometimes he would drift, half-asleep, and hear her talking, but deliberately tuned out the words. If anybody was checking on him, he didn't want to know. 

Hannah Lyman was an understanding woman who understood the mercurial moods of driven and talented men, which meant that she allowed him precisely three days to sleep and brood before dragging him off to her doctor for a long-overdue checkup and yet another scolding. The doctor was mildly impressed to know that all his recommendations were in line with Josh's previous doctor, Abbey Bartlet, but not so much that he didn't repeat pretty much everything she'd said. Josh needed sleep and exercise, a run of antibiotics and a much better diet, refills on his cholesterol, blood pressure and blood thinning medications, and another angiogram to take to his cardiologist, which was another thing he would need. Too tired to argue for once, Josh just listened and let his mother ask the questions, wishing irrationally for a moment that it was Donna with him, carrying around the two-inch-thick medical file she'd accumulated during his convalescence that she routinely threatened to smack him with. Donna and Sam almost certainly knew where he was, but he had no energy for thoughts like that right now. 

He filled his prescriptions, visited the cardiologist, got his tests done (no permanent damage, but a lot of tutting about how he was shortening his lifespan in general by not taking care of himself), but put his foot down when it came to a psychologist. Josh was the first person to admit he probably needed one, but therapy involved pulling off all the bandages and picking open all the scabs, and he wasn't ready for that. He couldn't even watch election coverage on the television, though he was vaguely aware in September when everyone started talking about how Hoynes never could keep his pants zipped and hadn't he told some kind of confidential secrets to his mistress the last time he got caught out? Josh couldn't help but be darkly amused. The Democrats had wanted Hoynes and they'd gotten him, and now God help them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends Part One! I debated ending the story entirely here and starting a second story in a series with the next chapter, but since I'm simulposting on two sites and one of them makes series posting a bit of a nightmare, I've decided to keep going under the same title. Coming next chapter there will be some changes in the tags, but nobody freak out! I promise nothing but a happy ending for everyone at the end of the day. Look for the next chapter sometime this week. 
> 
> I wanted to take a second to thank everybody who's left kudos and comments, sent PMs or Tumblr messages, followed or favorited this story so far. The feedback I've gotten has been amazing, and has reminded me that there was a time when I really loved writing. You are all directly responsible for me having come this far in a story that was originally supposed to be about three pages long and is now the size of a novella. I hope you're still enjoying yourselves! 
> 
> The titles in Part One (and the story title) come from California Dreaming by The Mamas and The Papas, Californication by Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Jet Airliner by The Steve Miller Band.


	20. The View's A Little Nicer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I have spent the past few days decompressing after the rather depressing Chapter 19 by writing prompt fic, all of which is posted for your viewing pleasure. It was fun, but have no fear, I am still working diligently at this monster. Chapter 20 marks the beginning of Part 2, which means a few new tags and new title lyrics. Thank you as always for your lovely and encouraging feedback, you're all the best.

“I'm free!' Donna announced gleefully as she burst into Sam's condo, juggling keys, a large pizza and a six-pack. “I passed my summer classes, and I have seven glorious days of no homework before the fall semester begins! And!” she added, dropping the pizza on the breakfast bar, “I went to my last therapy session today! She wants a six month follow up, but it'll be just to check in. Free at last!” She did a jubilant little dancing spin through the living room and nearly ran into Sam, who'd bounced up from the couch when she came in. 

“That's fantastic!” He hugged her, picking her up around the waist and giving her another quick spin. “Passed all your classes, huh? I guess you won't have to become a hobo and ride the rails of the dusty American southwest after all.” 

She sniffed, but couldn't stop grinning. “Hey, everybody needs a fallback. Finals were hard, and I was just hedging my bets. Put me down, I brought pizza.” 

“Is it good pizza?” Sam asked, setting her back down on her feet. “It's not the one with the whole tomatoes again, right?” 

“No, I think we decided after last time that margaritas were for drinking, not for pizza.” Donna flipped the box open, letting pizza smell waft into the air. “Ham, pineapple and green peppers.” 

“I can live with that,” Sam decided, pulling plates out of the cupboard. Sam did not own any paper plates or plastic cups, something that amused Donna to no end after the apartments of all the other men she'd spent time with. Even pizza was eaten on blue Fiestaware plates that he freely admitted had been chosen by a designer. “So that's two full semesters under your belt. How do you feel?” 

“A little exhausted,” she admitted, “but really good. It's only during finals that it was really difficult, and I can handle that. Plus,” she added, scooping a gooey slice onto her plate, “my advisor is setting me up so I can write a series of papers about my time in the White House and count it as my internship credit. She pointed out that following a congressman around or answering somebody's mail for a semester would really be superfluous for me. That means if everything goes well, I'll be graduating right around the time we start seriously campaigning.” 

Sam quirked a brow and took a piece for himself. “Does this mean I'm going to have to pay you more?” 

“Absolutely,” she told him breezily. “What are we watching?” 

“Monday night football,” he told her cheerfully, dropping onto the couch. “First games of the season tonight.” 

“Ugh.” 

“You can't ugh Monday Night Football, Donna. It's an institution, a piece of Americana. No other country plays football quite the way we do, and we should celebrate that with our patronage and beer,” he told her, straightfaced. 

“Are the Packers playing?” she asked hopefully. 

“Chargers and the Raiders,” he replied. She made a rude noise and repeated the “ugh,” but came around the couch to sit with him anyway. Even with the most interesting parts of the campaign over, she'd been coming over three or four nights a week just to hang out and eat dinner with him, watch television, do homework or play games. He was teaching her how to play chess, to the point where she could now beat him half the time, and she was teaching him how to use the Playstation 2 he'd bought while at the White House and never had time to use. She liked bouncing ideas off Sam as she was working, liked the way he could twist an idea just a little bit and make it sound exactly like what she'd been trying to say. She liked, though it was harder to admit, the way he leaned over her shoulder when she worked at her laptop, watching as she wrote. 

Some part of her felt bad for liking that, felt bad for all the time she spent with Sam, even though they'd never been anything more than friends in all these months. It felt like a betrayal, in the most indefinable and hypothetical sort of way. She'd had to use the techniques she was picking up in her rhetoric classes to go back and ruthlessly interrogate all her first premises, actually question all the assumptions she'd just let lay around inside her brain for years. Some of the conclusions weren't very much fun to draw. 

There had never been anything but friendship between her and Josh. It was very easy for her to lose track of that fact, given how long she'd been with him, wishing for him, knowing it was impossible and wanting anyway. In her mind she'd constructed fantasies out of stray looks and absent touches, a fantasy where maybe he felt the same way about her, but saw the same impossibilities she did. It was kind of a frustrating fantasy, but it was something to hold onto. But if that had been the case, wouldn't he have been happy when she left to take a new job? Wouldn't he at least have kissed her back? Josh was her friend, and his feelings for her were friendly, maybe even familial sometimes, but that was all. The only way she could betray that relationship was by leaving, and she'd already burned that bridge to the point where she wasn't sure she could repair it. 

Judging by Josh's behavior six weeks ago, it would require a substantial construction effort, but that couldn't even begin until he reached out and initiated some kind of contact. She'd called his mother after the convention and been reassured that Josh was there, Josh was getting rest, Josh was going to be taking much better care of himself from now on. Donna liked Hannah Lyman very much, ever since the first time she'd met her on the first campaign's Connecticut fundraising leg, but she'd really gotten a look at the woman's mettle in the days after Rosslyn. Donna didn't even understand the kind of strength it must have taken to lose a daughter and a husband, then watch her son struggling for life in an intensive care bed, but Hannah had managed with a loving stoicism that Donna could only try and pattern after. She'd watched Hannah handling Josh effortlessly when it was time for breathing exercises or physical therapy, and she was sure than there was no possible way Josh would get away with not taking care of himself now. But he didn't want to talk to her or Sam until he was ready, and she had to be okay with that. 

So far, the best way she'd found to be okay with it was doing exactly what she was doing now, spending time with Sam and doing all the normal stuff, political and nonpolitical, that made up the fabric of their lives away from Pennsylvania Avenue. Building something new was a lot better than continually wallowing around in the rubble and ashes of an old disaster. And it was in that spirit that she settled in next to Sam on the couch, her head resting against his shoulder as they ate pizza and watched the Chargers thoroughly school the Raiders in playing football. When he put an arm comfortably around her shoulders, she let herself enjoy that as much as she liked. Sam always smelled nice, like aftershave but not too much aftershave, and he wasn't a particularly sweaty person, so cuddling up was pretty gratifying to the senses as well as the soul. 

She was just contemplating whether it was worth getting up for another piece of pizza when her phone rang in her pocket. “Donna Moss,” she answered curiously, glancing over at Sam. He nodded and muted the television. 

“Hey, it's Carol. I wanted to let you know I got the question.” There were nerves in Carol's voice, but excitement as well. 

“The Hoynes question? Somebody asked it in the room?” Donna clarified carefully. Sam raised his eyebrows. 

“Katie Witt from the Post has it, but I would bet all my horrible government salary that she's working with Danny Concannon,” Carol confirmed. 

“She's not working with Danny, Danny gave me the tip,” Donna reminded her. 

“Yeah, but that was before it was real news,” Carol explained. “From what I'm hearing now, not only did that asshole schtupp a twenty-year-old intern from his office, he subsequently intervened in the hiring process at the EPA to get her father into a fairly important position that he was only marginally qualified for. That's not just sexual misconduct, that's real malfeasance if it can be proven.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Donna muttered, massaging her forehead. “Suddenly Bingo Bob is starting to look pretty good in hindsight.” 

“Tell me about it. CJ's fit to be tied; she's ordered no comment from anybody in the administration on the entire thing. She's going to let him twist in the wind.” 

“As well she should. You're going to take some heat for it, though.” 

“I can handle it,” Carol assured her cheerfully. “I've been telling them no comment for seven years, it's kind of fun to do it from behind the podium. And she told me I was doing a good job.” Coming from Carol's idol, this was big and important news. 

“Of course you are!” Donna agreed. “I'm actually enjoying watching press briefings again, instead of just cringing my way through.” 

“You're too sweet. When are you coming out, anyway? I thought you were going to visit last month. Our time here is limited, you know.” 

“School's been kicking my ass,” Donna admitted. “I'll get there soon, I'll clear a whole weekend,” she promised. 

“You better. Call it a field trip,” Carol advised. “Get extra credit. Anyway, I gotta get back to not returning my messages, but I thought you deserved a heads up for telling me in the first place. I was really glad not to go in there blind.” 

“Press secretary's always my first call,” Donna said dutifully, making Carol laugh. They said goodbye and then Donna hung up to fill Sam in on what she'd learned. Sam grimaced. “You know, that jackass didn't even win us Texas? We could've had a half-dozen better running mates in the second campaign, and none of this would be happening right now.” 

“There's no way anybody could've known...” Donna began, but Sam was in no mood to be pacified. 

“We should've known!” he insisted. “More to the point, we should've admitted to ourselves that we knew. Nobody on that campaign hadn't heard the rumors about Hoynes, nobody was unaware of the fact that he had an eye. You were brand new, Donna, did somebody mention it to you?” 

She nodded reluctantly. “CJ told me it was better if none of the assistants or female volunteers were alone with him. She said it was optics, but it always seemed a little strange because all the top people in the campaign were men and we were alone with them all the time. I know she wasn't very happy when he was picked for VP.” 

“No, she wasn't,” Sam recalled. “But she didn't provide any specific reasons that I can remember, and we were hoping he'd carry Texas for us. She said he wasn't the kind of man we wanted on the ticket, and now you say she was warning the female staffers about him. That's more than hearing vague rumors. Why wouldn't she say anything?” 

Donna thought for a minute about how CJ had always acted around Hoynes, thought about that one time Taylor Reid had thrown her so badly with news of Hoynes book. Thought of that one moment when Danny had seemed so angry about Hoynes' career of womanizing. She thought about it, then tucked it away. “She was the only female senior advisor,” she pointed out instead. “And politics is a boys club. You had a candidate you wanted, and I'm sure there was no proof. You really think anybody in that room would've listened to her, except maybe Toby?” 

Sam looked uncomfortable, defensive and chagrined in turn. “That's not how it went down,” he insisted. “We listened to CJ, we listened to everyone's opinions. If she knew something was wrong-” 

“Carol and Margaret and I took CJ out for drinks the day the president renewed the lease on that air base in Qumar,” Donna said quietly. “She went out on a limb on that one because she believed she could make a difference. She lost her composure and almost lost her job, and got absolutely nowhere, and that was with four or five years of credibility. If she'd taken a stand on Hoynes, she might not have ended up press secretary at all.” 

Sam scrubbed his hands over his face helplessly. “And now we're going to end up with President Vinick, God help us all.” Donna took that as her cue to get up and fetch a couple more beers from the kitchen. It seemed both appropriate and necessary. Sam took his and clinked the neck against hers before drinking. “To the end of an era. You want to check CNN, see if they've got it?” 

“I think I'd rather watch the Chargers stomp on the Raiders some more,” Donna admitted. “The other is just too depressing.” 

Sam nodded agreement and after a few minutes they found their way back to their previous cozy positions on the couch. The football game was nearly over when Sam finally spoke up again. “When I run for office, or I'm in office, I need you to promise me that you'll tell me about things, even if I don't want to hear them. I swear to god I'll listen, no matter what.” 

Donna took his hand and squeezed it. “Trust me, you won't be able to avoid hearing it. I'd never be the press secretary CJ was, but I like to think I can make it up on volume.” 

“That's the spirit,” he said, rubbing his cheek lightly over her hair. “It's going to be different because we'll make it that way.”


	21. Everything Will Be Just Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another new chapter! See, I promised I would not forget this story while I was writing other things. Those of you who are incredibly attentive to show continuity may notice a small and persistent error in timing throughout this next chapter. Everything happens about three hours later than it did in the episode the chapter draws from, although it doesn't make much difference in the grand scheme of things. I'm going to go full West Wing on this and blame time zones. :D Thank you all for your feedback and comments, and for your continuing faith that I will take this story someplace you will enjoy going in the end. I am working hard to make it all worth it.

Sam listened to the news on the radio as he drove home from work, half-listening to the local calender and the weather report, paying more attention to the news reports from the city and around the state. October brought the Santa Ana winds to Southern California, and that meant the risk of wildfires, but so far the weather had been damp enough to prevent them. National news was not particularly interesting but Sam listened anyway, wondering idly if Vinick might actually capture all fifty states this year. 

Ever since Hoynes' new scandal had broken, his already slightly anemic numbers had been draining steadily away, to the point where it looked like he might not even carry his home state. There had been rumors around the Beltway that Ricki Rafferty had seriously considered leaving the ticket, but had been swayed back into place by heavy pressure from party leaders. Sam knew her a little, mostly through Toby, and felt bad that she'd been dragged into this kind of position, but there was a small amount of relief that at least it wasn't Santos. He couldn't imagine what Josh would be going through if it were his guy on the bottom of this disastrous ticket. Sam didn't actually know what Josh was doing these days, but he sincerely hoped it involved a lot of sleep and some food that wasn't fried. 

At home, Sam puttered around for awhile, doing a load of laundry and bagging up his dry cleaning, emptying the dishwasher, then sitting down with some journal articles he needed to catch up on. Donna had classes, so she wouldn't be stopping by till after eight. Sam realized he was mainly just killing time until she arrived, and wondered what that meant. They'd been spending a lot of time together for the past ten months, and even more so since he and Kinley had ended things, but lately everything had seemed a little different, a little more charged. He'd always been aware of how soft her skin was and how nice she smelled when they would cuddle up and watch television, but she was his friend and she wasn't looking for anything, and there was no way he wouldn't respect that.

He'd noticed a change in the way she looked at him, though, since the beginning of fall. Nothing overt, but he could tell when a woman was watching with a considering eye. He wasn't always good at knowing what to do about it, but he could at least tell. Normally if a woman he was attracted to gave him that look, he'd at least try making a move, but the fraughtness of this situation gave him pause. Whatever was going on, it seemed a lot smarter to let her make the first move. But he couldn't deny that, whatever the relationship was turning into, he was coming to rely on her as one of the nicer parts of his everyday life. 

Donna showed up just as Sam was unpacking the Italian delivery he'd ordered in. Neither he nor Donna were any kind of cooks, but there were enough delivery places in LA to get different food every night for a month and never repeat. “God, it's windy out tonight,” she told him, unwinding her scarf and making a vain attempt to smooth out her tangled hair. 

“The winds of Santa Ana are blowing again,” Sam sang cheerfully as he dished lasagna onto a plate. 

“Yeah, yeah, welcome to California,” Donna groused without any real annoyance. “You know,” she added as she came around the breakfast bar to join him in the kitchen, “I'm pretty sure we have two or three days worth of leftovers in your fridge still.” 

“I know,” Sam assured her, “it's the only food I've got in the house. But I was really in the mood for Italian tonight. You can take some home with you for breakfast if you want.” 

“Eww,” was Donna's response to that idea. “I haven't eaten pad thai for breakfast on purpose since the last time I was in college.” 

Sam slanted her a look. “You've eaten pad thai for breakfast accidentally?” 

“You know,” she waved a hand, “back during the MS thing when people were sleeping on couches and floors and even us assistants weren't getting home for days at a time. It wasn't like there was any time to buy groceries or lay in a supply of cereal, so we'd all just steal the leftovers of whatever you guys had gotten the night before.” 

His eyes widened. “So that's what always happened to it? I thought it was overzealous cleaning staff.” 

“It was like overtime pay,” she informed him primly. “Incredibly lousy overtime pay, but it kept body and soul together.” She scooped up a serving of manicotti and added a piece of garlic bread, then carried it to her favorite TV tray in the living room. 

Sam followed her in, grabbing a couple bottles of beer from the fridge as he went. “So what do you purposefully eat for breakfast?” he asked, setting down his plate. 

“Mostly toast,” she answered with a shrug, “sometimes Cheerios with bananas if I'm feeling fancy. What about you?” 

“Mostly pad thai,” he told her with an unrepentant grin, laughing at the face she made. They settled in, watching television and talking while eating. Donna wanted to know more about the Santa Ana winds, and whether they actually made people crazy or not. Sam was in the middle of a story about his high school debate team and the surprising amount of technique required to properly saran-wrap a car when the national news was abruptly preempted by a loud, blaring Breaking News animation. They both fell silent as Sam turned the volume up. 

“We interrupt your nightly program to bring you a breaking story out of San Andreo,” the handsome and somber newscaster reported. “Approximately nine minutes ago, a loud explosion was reported in the vicinity of the San Andreo Nuclear Generating Station. Onlookers are reporting lights and sirens in the vicinity of the plant, and a security cordon has been established to keep citizens and reporters at bay.” 

“San Andreo is located approximately sixty miles from downtown Los Angeles,” the beautiful young female newscaster added smoothly. “In the event of a total meldown at the plant, the greatest danger would be to the community of San Andreo itself and the surrounding area. Approximately forty-five thousand people live within a ten-mile radius of the town, with ten miles being the minimum safe evacuation distance according to Nuclear Regulatory Commission protocols. However, if safety measures within the plant fail, there could be a spread of nuclear contamination spread through a far greater radius, up to fifty miles. Stay tuned to this network for further updates and evacuation instructions.”

Donna looked over at Sam, her eyes wide and scared. Sam instinctively scooted towards her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She linked the fingers on his free hand with her own. “Marina del Rey is almost parallel with the downtown,” he reminded her, doing his best to be reassuring. “We're not within the fifty mile zone.” 

“Deputy Chief of Staff coordinates White House response to federal disasters,” Donna reminded him tersely. “I've read the briefing books on this stuff. If the wind is blowing in the wrong direction or contaminated water enters an aquifer, another ten miles isn't going to matter very much. And that's before you take the civil disturbances into account. There's going to be panic, Sam. Half of Southern California is going to be trying to get to Northern California by morning if this doesn't turn out to be a false alarm. There'll be car crashes, maybe rioting, hospitals will fill up, the communications system will go down because the circuits will be jammed-” 

At that nearly poetic moment, Donna's phone rang. She picked it up immediately, but didn't let go of Sam's hand. “Donna Moss,” she said. “Oh, hey Margaret.” She thumbed the phone to speaker and held it out so Sam could hear too. 

“-had to try three times just to get you at all,” Margaret was saying, “and it hit the air less than fifteen minutes ago!” 

“It's nine-thirty here,” Donna remarked, “everybody was watching television already.” 

“Huh, that's true. I'm still wearing my pajama pants and hoping nobody notices till I can get changed. It's too damn cold to go out there in hose at this hour, plus there are muggers and rapists everywhere and I only have one can of mace-” 

“Margaret!” Donna interrupted. “Did you have some reason for calling?” 

“Of course,” Margaret replied, sounding not at all rebuked. “CJ's coming in as we speak, and remind me to tell you about where she was later, but she's going to want to know where you and Sam are. I don't want her having to worry about it.” 

“Marina del Rey,” Donna replied, looking over at Sam. “About sixty miles north of San Andreo.” 

“Okay, that's good,” Margaret said with obvious relief, faint scratching noises on her end as she made a note. “Do you have any idea where Sam is?” 

“I'm here too,” Sam spoke up, meeting Donna's gaze. “Tell CJ we're okay right now, we're out of the spread range and in a gated community. We're going to hunker down here for the night and stay off the roads.” 

“Oh, hi Sam.” Margaret sounded surprised but not shocked to find Sam and Donna together so late in the evening. “That's a good plan. I'll tell her you're both safe and accounted for.” 

“Thanks, Margaret,” Donna said. “How are things looking out there?” 

“Oh, it's all about to go to hell as soon as more people get here,” Margaret replied, almost cheerfully. “But I don't have any actual information.” 

“We understand,” Sam told her. “Thanks for calling us. But... how did you get there before anyone else, then?” 

“I was watching Leno and checking my RSS feeds,” Margaret explained. “Fark had a news flash out almost twenty minutes ago, and when I realized it was San Andreo I came right in. I was an all-state track runner in high school, and I have a can of mace,” she added smugly. “I need to go, don't want to tie up the phone lines any more than they are. Good luck, stay safe, stay in touch.” 

“Okay, bye Margaret.” Donna hung up the phone, looking slightly bemused until the television caught her eye again. More sources were confirming the explosion now, though nobody seemed to know exactly what had blown or what the effects might be. Hastily rendered overlays were popping up on screen now, showing where fallout might hit during a catastrophe, and the chyron had the site spelled “San Andreo Nuculear Generating Station.” It wasn't a sight to inspire a lot of confidence. 

Sam watched as Donna got up and walked over to the window, her arms wrapped around herself as she looked outside. Marina del Rey was an exclusive community, a quiet community, and even now it seemed like any other evening. “Sam?” she said quietly. “I need you to use your very best politician voice right now.” Still hugging herself, she turned to look at him. “I need you to use that voice that could make anybody believe anything you say, and tell me that everything's going to be all right.” 

“Donna...” Sam stood and crossed the room, enfolding her into a hug. She was stiff for a moment, her arms still pinned to her chest, but then she relaxed all at once and hugged him back hard. “You've read the briefing books,” he reminded her, running his hand lightly up and down her back. “They tell you all the worst case scenarios, but the very first thing they'll say is how unlikely a true meltdown is. Places like San Andreo have a dozen failsafe systems so that even if something does go wrong, nothing bad will happen to anybody because of it. In the incredibly unlikely event that radioactive fallout does escape, we are a long ways away from the plant, and almost due north. You remember those Santa Ana winds?” he teased lightly. “They always blow west, and they're strong right now. A fallout plume will blow out to sea, not north to LA. But more than any of that, President Bartlet is still in charge, and CJ is right there helping him. Everything is absolutely going to be okay.” It was his best politician voice, but it helped that he believed it. 

She didn't move or say anything for a minute so he just stood there holding her, feeling the beat of her heart through his hand on her back, the soft movement of her breathing against his chest. Finally she murmured something into his shoulder, so quietly that he could barely hear it at all. “Vinick is incredibly pro-nuclear.” 

He let out a surprised laugh and couldn't stop himself from kissing the top of her head with simple affection. “You really are born to this career, aren't you?” he asked rhetorically. 

Donna pulled away, and he was relieved to see she was smiling a little. “Guess so. Once this is over and we can all laugh about it in retrospect, we can watch to see how it shakes up the race.” 

“That's the spirit,” He guided her back to the couch and their forgotten meals, where they spent the rest of the evening watching the effort to save San Andreo. Donna all but crushed his fingers while they counted down the minutes that the technicians were inside the reactor, but Sam didn't even think to complain. She shed a few tears when the first attempt was unsuccessful, despite the men being in the reactor so long, murmuring that Debbie was going to have to pull call sheets. It was strange, Sam decided, watching a disaster unfold from this side, knowing what was likely happening but being powerless to change anything. Not for long, he promised himself. 

It was after midnight when the phone rang again, startling them both. Sam had tried to call a few friends earlier, but the circuits were entirely jammed up, along with the roads. Whoever was calling was either extremely lucky or extremely tenacious. “Sam Seaborn,” he said automatically as he answered. 

“Sam! Thank god, I've been trying to get you for hours!” Josh's voice in his ear was ragged with worry and relief. “Where the hell are you? You're not out in that, are you?” 

Sam felt his heart start to race, his chest filling with all kinds of conflicting emotions. First and foremost, though, was happiness at hearing Josh's voice. He turned on the speakerphone and mouthed “Josh”. Donna's eyes went wide. “We're completely safe,” he assured Josh, falling back into best-politician voice without even thinking about it. “My new place is a gated community in Marina del Rey, just west of downtown LA. We're going to have a two-day traffic jam to deal with out here, but that should be the worst of it. I think they're going to get the reactor shut down in the next hour or so anyway.” 

“Okay, good, that's good,” Josh said, and Sam could almost see him nodding frantically on the other side of the line. “Outside of the fifty mile radius isn't foolproof, you're still looking at potential civil disturbances and groundwater contamination, but it's a hell of a lot better than being any further south. You just stay inside, okay?” He paused for a second. “We?” 

“I've got Donna with me,” Sam answered, and immediately felt obligated to explain, even though technically- well, screw technically, there was nothing technical or explicable about any of their relationships right now. He felt obligated to explain somehow. “Her place is in Mar Vista, it's close by but not quite as safe. Just this once I'm saying forget the populist optics and we're holing up behind the gates here.” 

“Hi Josh,” Donna called tentatively. 

“Hey Donna,” Josh replied, his voice even more ragged than before. “That's- that's a good idea,” he managed. “Screw the optics, you're not even pre-running till at least January. Just try and resist the temptation to go out looting and you should be fine.” 

“I'll keep that in mind,” Sam said with a quick laugh. 

“How are you doing, Josh?” Donna asked quickly, as though afraid she wouldn't get the chance. 

“Oh, you know, fine,” Josh told them, and for once it was hard to tell if he was lying or not. “Doing some writing, trying not to watch the news. My mom says to say hi, by the way. I can't... I can't talk for very long, but I wanted to be sure you were safe.” There was something very raw in those last words, something Sam was afraid to even touch. “Take care, all right?” 

“Josh, wait-” Donna began, but there was an unmistakable click as the line went dead. They both stared at the phone for a minute. 

“It's good that he called,” Sam offered, the best he could do right now. “It's nice that he worried. Well, not nice, obviously, but I think it has to mean something about his recovery that he's monitoring current events and that he thought of us-” 

He trailed off as Donna slowly leaned forward until she was bent double, her forehead resting against her bent knees. She didn't cry, didn't even close her eyes, but her posture was one that suggested she was entirely finished dealing with the events of the day. Sam could hardly blame her; he'd probably do the same thing if he thought he had any hope of making his body fold that way. Instead he closed his phone and put it back on the table, then leaned back into the couch and slowly rubbed Donna's back while another set of brave men walked into hell to save thousands of lives. Eventually she relaxed and tipped sideways, laying on the couch with her head on his leg. They fell asleep that way sometime in the wee hours, and woke to safety and a new presidential race.


	22. We'll Sit There Holding Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's Chapter 22, coming in the middle of my continuing prompt-fic storm! This story is already rated above G everywhere it's posted, but you might notice stronger language than usual in this chapter, so fair warning. Thank you everybody for your continued encouragement and readership, I hope you enjoy and comment!

“How is it even possible that I have been in California for a scant eleven months and suddenly DC is unbearably cold?” Donna complained, drawing her arms further up into the sleeves of her puffy winter coat. 

“And you from Wisconsin, too,” CJ pointed out, entirely unsympathetic. “Your ancestors must be ashamed of you right now. I'd also like you to imagine what it was like for those of us who came to Washington, by way of New Hampshire, for god's sake, after living in California for years!” 

“I actually remember that,” Donna replied with a chuckle. “You wouldn't even wear a dress until March because you couldn't cope with bare legs. And you made Toby buy you that space heater shaped like a frog.” 

“It was only fair, since it was his fault I left California in the first place,” CJ retorted as they wound their way down the sidewalk, flanked by her Secret Service agents. That was something Donna was trying to get used to while staying at CJ's house during her visit, but they did have some advantages. Even a chauffeured towncar couldn't get them directly in front of their restaurant on Election Night in Washington DC, but the sheer aura of intimidation a couple of agents could provide tended to clear the way pretty quickly. CJ barely paid attention to her agents unless they made their presence known, Donna had noticed. She didn't seem to know most of their names. Donna was absolutely sure that was on purpose, but she would never bring it up with CJ. 

“So are you heading for warmer climes when you're done here, then?” Donna asked. “Charlie says you've got a stack of offers a foot high.” 

“That estimate might be conservative,” CJ admitted. “I'm not sure what people do after they finish being Chief of Staff. It seems like most of them tend to retire or become professional board members of things.” 

“Not exactly your speed.” 

“God, no. What would I do all day? I'd have to get a bunch of cats and write terrible memoirs.” CJ shook her head. “Once we finish taking our shellacking at the polls tonight, I'm going to have to sit down with the pile and see if anything seems less stultifying than the others. Ideally one where I can bring some people along with me.” 

“Margaret and Carol?” Donna guessed. In ten weeks, all three women would be out of jobs, and though highly employable after her run as press secretary, Carol had been very quiet about what her next plans were. Donna suspected she was hedging her bets and hoping to keep working with CJ. Margaret's loyalty was always to Leo first, but Leo had been talking about really retiring for awhile now, and he wouldn't need Margaret's ultra-capable assistance for that. 

“And hopefully Charlie, eventually. He's got three more years of school, but he's been dropping me hints.” CJ laughed as they entered the bar, its warmth almost shocking after the chill outdoors. “I suspect Zoey will have something to say about it eventually, so we'll see.” 

The bar the staffers had chosen for their Election Day sendoff was a good two or three steps up from a dive, but it was no wood-paneled tavern either. The air smelled heavily of beer and fried food, and a stage at the back promised karaoke starting at 8:30. For security and privacy, Ed and Larry had managed to secure the entire back room for their group, and many of them were already there. Donna quickly found herself buried in hugs from her assistant and former-assistant friends. Much as she loved her new life in California, being back with her friends made her keenly miss the White House for a few minutes, and the fact that she didn't have to keep an eye on anybody's alcohol consumption tonight gave her a weird little pang. 

Within a few minutes she had gravitated over to Sam, who was sitting with Toby, Will and Carol at what was obviously the Communications table. “Hey Donna,” Toby said dourly, staring into his scotch. “Come to join us in our wake for the late, great United States of America?” 

“We're the fun table tonight,” Will assured her. 

“You joke,” Toby accused Will, “but we're about to endure four years of the Republicans dismantling everything we spent the best years of our lives working to build! The first president that my children remember will be Arnie- Arnie, for God's sake!- Vinick, because John Hoynes couldn't keep his goddamn hands off the help!” He finished his scotch, obviously not his first of the evening. “The entire Bartlet Administration was a fucking master class in never getting to be with the people you want because the optics would be bad, but god forbid Hoynes' dick should get too dry, no matter what it means for the good of the country!” By now he was drawing some attention and subsided a bit. “Excuse the language,” he told Donna and Carol. 

Sam traded an uneasy look with Donna, who forced a perky smile. “So, I'm guessing staying at Toby's house this week is a barrel of laughs.” 

“It's actually been great so far,” Sam told her, latching onto the new topic eagerly. “His new place is beautiful, and the TV is the size of a picture window. And there's a guest room, so I'm not couch-surfing.” 

“Sam's tolerance for sleeping on a twin bed with Teletubbies sheets is higher than most sane adults,” Toby muttered. 

“Maybe we should've gone to Toby's house,” Will observed. “There's not even a television in here.” 

“Do you really want to be watching the news tonight?” Carol asked dryly. “I've declared a moratorium till the West Coast polls close, and I'm the press secretary. It's just too depressing to watch.” 

Just after the San Andreo near-disaster, Vinick's polls nationwide had tanked and the outcome of the race had begun to seem legitimately in doubt. Hoynes had made a double-digit jump in several key states as the country started to remember what a really serious public relations disaster looked like. But Vinick didn't have Bruno Gianelli on his staff for nothing, and suddenly Hoynes' quick moves to capitalize on the publicity began to look like the worst kind of vote-grubbing in the midst of fear and tragedy. Arnold Vinick had looked damn near Presidential already, standing next to President Bartlet the day after the disaster, and his marathon three-hour press conference on nuclear energy had exhausted the press to the point where they didn't seem to feel like publishing more nuclear horror stories. The result was a map that wasn't going to be a fifty state embarrassment for the Democrats, but still held no promise at all. It was as good a reason as any for the outgoing White House staffers to have a party with plenty of alcohol and no exit polls. 

Donna had worried that her trip back to DC would be awkward. Even though she'd kept in touch with her friends, the way she'd left town so abruptly and the stories she was sure had gone around made her a little nervous about how she'd be received. Her concerns had been groundless. After two drinks and an hour of conversation, she felt almost like she'd never left. She suspected it helped that the administration was winding down, so the other women were more concerned with things like moving and finding new jobs than the affairs of state that Donna was no longer part of. In fact, she could offer hard-won advice to the soon-to-be-jobless on apartment hunting and moving, so she fit right back in. By the time the party began to migrate into the main bar area, ostensibly because Toby needed to watch election results, she was another drink in and feeling very happy about a lot of things. 

Word had gone out about the White House party, and more political and politics-adjacent people began crowding out the random patrons as the evening went on. Donna smiled to see Toby looking a little less dour with Congresswoman Wyatt sitting next to him, and frowned to see Danny Concannon on the other side of the room with a drink in hand. “I thought we were keeping the press out of this one?” she asked Carol. 

Carol followed the direction of her gaze. “He's off the record tonight,” she told Donna conspiratorially. “My personal election-night present to the Chief of Staff. By the way, you're coming home with me tonight if they bail on the party. I'll lend you jammies.” 

Donna's mouth was a round O of surprise. “Seriously? They're back on again? CJ didn't even whisper to me about it!” 

“You know how it goes around here.” Carol seesawed her hand. “CJ's still torturing herself about the conflict of interest, plus working twenty hour days. It's not great for romance, but Danny's a stubborn little cuss. He'll be good for her, if she lets him.” 

“But he's a White House reporter,” Donna pointed out. “You really think CJ wants to stay in DC after all this? I've been getting big 'flee very far away' vibes from heron the phone.” 

Carol slanted her a look. “You think he wouldn't go anywhere she asked him to?” 

“He wouldn't even go to the editor's desk at the Post a few years ago.” Donna sipped her drink and watched as CJ noticed Danny and made her way over to give him a hard time. Definite sparks flying, she decided. 

“Things are different now,” Carol answered simply. “He knows what he wants. And he knows I'll kill him slowly if he hurts her again.” 

Donna nodded. “Okay then.” Still pleasantly buzzed and looking to share the feeling, she went over to say hello to Ed and Larry, then some of the East Wing staffers she knew. She and Charlie were comparing war stories about working full time and going to school when Sam glided up and put an arm around her waist. He was obviously pleasantly buzzed as well. 

“They're going to turn on the karaoke machine!” Sam informed Donna with great enthusiasm. “Isn't that great?” 

“Oh no,” Donna laughed. “That's just what we need. At least it's a press lockout.” She saw Charlie give the two of them a considering glance and considered stepping away a little, but decided not to. It was a party, and they weren't doing anything wrong. “Are you going to sing?” 

“Of course!” Sam declared loudly. “I will be a leader and display my leadership skills in the area of encouraging my fellow public servants to exercise their creative talents in the service of celebrating our great democracy! Win or lose, it's still the best country on earth!” With that, Sam wandered away again, heading for the stage to look at the set book. 

“That looked cozy,” Charlie observed, and Donna gave him a sharp look, checking for any hint of judgment. He seemed more surprised and amused than anything else. 

“Hmm,” she replied noncommittally, but before she could assemble a more coherent response, they were joined by an individual bundled beyond recognition in coat, cap, and multicolored scarf. Donna gave the newcomer a confused look until cap and scarf were removed and Zoey Bartlet pulled Charlie in for a very thorough kiss. Donna smiled and watched, then gave Zoey a hug when the two broke apart. “Hey Zoey, it's great to see you.” 

“Donna, it's been forever!” Zoey squeezed Donna back enthusiastically, then shimmied out of her coat. “I had to come in disguise or my dad wouldn't let me out of the house. He and my mom and Leo are parked in front of the TV with cheesecake, coffee and crushing depression. You're going to visit while you're here, right?” 

“Sam and I are planning on stopping by sometime tomorrow,” Donna confirmed. “Today was just too busy for everyone.” 

“Tell me about it,” Zoey agreed. “But I can't get on board the sadness train. We're about to get the hell out of the White House! Nobody's going to give a damn about what I do anymore for the rest of my life!” She gave a little cheer and kissed Charlie again. Charlie seemed pretty cheerful about it as well. “Hey, have you heard from-” Zoey began, then broke off awkwardly, obviously realizing that she might be stepping into dangerous territory. 

“Not for awhile,” Donna said with lightness that was only slightly forced. “He's still down in Florida, but he gave us a call last month to be sure we were safe from the San Andreo thing. Just think, he might actually be getting a tan for the first time in his adult life.” 

“Could be,” Zoey agreed, clearly eager to move quickly past her faux pas. “Hey, Sam's getting up.” 

True to his word, Sam was leading the charge to the karaoke stage, microphone in hand. The music started with a blare of loud harmonica that had Donna laughing and groaning at the same time. “Oh Sam, no.” Zoey and Charlie looked baffled, which just made Donna feel old. 

“Come gather round people, wherever you roam, and admit that the waters around you have grown!” Sam sang passionately into the microphone. CJ whooped from across the room, and Toby lifted his glass. Most of the room had figured out the song by the time Sam got to the fourth line, and Donna sang along with the rest of the room when Sam gestured for audience participation on “the times, they are a-changin!” Sam did not really have the voice for Dylan, not that anybody did, but he was more than enthusiastic enough for the material. He'd obviously given it some thought, too, pointing to Will and Toby for “writers and critics who prophesy with their pen,” and to Carol for “the wheel still in spin.” The whole roomful of Democrats got to be “losers now, later to win,” which drew another enthusiastic cheer. 

“Everyone in this room is a nerd,” Donna heard Charlie tell Zoey, and she couldn't disagree. But it was a very nice group of nerds to be part of. 

Sam's karaoke leadership did indeed break the ice, and soon there was a steady flow of staffers taking the stage to star or sing backup. Donna found herself singing backup for Carol on A Little Help from My Friends and for Bonnie and Ginger on Say My Name, and backup lipsyncing with most of the other women for CJ's rendition of The Jackal, which brought down the house. It was thirsty work, and by the time she was trying to choose her own song, she wasn't staggering, but she was definitely feeling no pain. “Come oooonnnn,” she insisted, dragging Carol and Margaret towards the stage. 

“Donnnnnaaaaaa,” Carol whined, “this song is the worst. The music video was creepy!” 

“I liked the music video,” Margaret put in, even more owl-eyed than usual with a few drinks in her. 

“I love this song!” Donna insisted. “It is the perfect karaoke song and I helped you and you have to help me now! This was my favorite karaoke song in high school and I'm gonna do it now!” She stepped up to the microphone as the first bars of the song began to play, and saw CJ and Andy Wyatt already laughing. “Turn around,” Donna sang, closing her eyes and giving her all to the mic. “Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you never come around,” and she was relieved that Margaret and Carol were singing the “turn around” part exactly like they should. “Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears!” By the time she got to the last “every now and then I fall apart,” she was really belting it out, and glad she was substantially less than sober. 

She opened her eyes for the chorus and somehow found her gaze locked to Sam's, who was watching her raptly with a forgotten beer in his hand. “And I need you now tonight, and I need you more than ever, and if you only hold me tight, we'll be holding on forever...” There was a look in his eyes that made her flub the next two lines, but Margaret helpfully picked them up for her until she could tear her gaze away and go back to looking at the lyrics screen, feeling a little shaken. By the time she finished the song, though, she was on the usual power-ballad high, her arms wrapped around Carol and Margaret, part of the audience singing along. It was downright triumphant. 

They descended from the stage, allowing Ed past them to sing My Way. Donna made her way to the senior-staff-and-friends table, where CJ was bickering with Danny, Andy was trying to get an increasingly dour Toby to sing, and Will was expostulating on some arcane point of speechwriting to an oblivious Sam. Oblivious, Donna noted, because Sam was watching her cross the room. It was really wonderful to be looked at, she decided. There were no chairs left at the table, so she perched herself in Sam's lap instead and took a handful of his french fries. “Great party,” she remarked, “have we gotten any results yet?” 

“None that you wanna hear,” Toby informed her. “But none that are gonna surprise you, either. Darkness is falling, and we're fiddling while Rome burns!” He glared at the stage and the generally cheerful crowd around it. 

Next to Toby, Andy subsided with a look of poorly-concealed disappointment. “I think I'm going to call it a night,” she told the rest of the table. “It's been a lot of fun, couldn't think of a nicer group of people to fiddle with.” She grinned when Donna snorted and almost choked on a french fry. 

“Let me take you home,” Toby told her, rising from the table. 

“No thanks,” Andy replied. “You can't drive anyway. And there's enough sadness floating around in the world tonight. I need to protect what party mood I can find.” She walked away, and Toby subsided back into his chair, looking twice as gloomy as before. 

CJ gave his arm a quick, comforting squeeze, but he didn't look up. “Everyone's just blowing off steam,” she reminded him. “Nobody's going to forget there's work left to do.” 

On the other side of the table, Sam wrapped an arm around Donna's waist to hold her in place while he vied for a share of his own french fries. “This just means we start working that much harder for midterms,” he reminded Toby and the rest of them. “Donna and I are going to make me a senator in 2008.” Donna nodded enthusiastically. 

“Well, that'll be something, at least,” Toby muttered. “We need a couple of decent senators up there, the ones we have are useless. You just make sure he stays on message,” he instructed Donna, “and doesn't get bogged down trying to please everybody. Voters respect people who take a stand! That's what's really happening tonight, it's a referendum on people who never say anything worthwhile. We need to change the discourse around here. We still need to do that.” 

“We will,” Donna promised. “We're starting already. And you'll keep us honest.” 

“Damn right I will,” Toby grumbled, but she thought he looked slightly less morose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Musical Credits for this chapter: Lyrics come from "The Times They are A-Changin'" by Bob Dylan, and "Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler. 
> 
> Song titles are "I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends" by The Beatles, "Say My Name" by Destiny's Child, "The Jackal," by Ronny Jordan, and "My Way," by Frank Sinatra. 
> 
> Lyric titles for this chapter and all of Part 2 so far are from "Clouds" by Zach Sobiech.


	23. I'll Fly A LIttle Higher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 23, and it's a behemoth! I'm pretty sure this is the longest non-interlude chapter so far, so I hope you enjoy it. Thank you again to everyone who keeps giving me feedback as this story gets bigger and longer and more complex, every word of it is appreciated!

The party went strong until around eleven, when the polls closed on the West Coast and the Communications staffers had to face the inevitable post-mortem for an election the Democrats had no chance of winning. Everyone was quiet in the bar as they watched the election called for Arnold Vinick, then they began finishing their drinks and settling their tabs. “Well,” CJ declared to nobody in particular, “let's just hope he stays very healthy for the next four years, because God help us all if we get Sullivan as president.” 

“That's it,” Toby called, slapping a salt shaker into her hand. “Turn around and spit right now, you crazy woman!” He'd had more to drink than just about anyone, but aside from some increased loudness and a slightly more pugnacious attitude than was usual even for him, he didn't seem to be feeling it.

CJ rolled her eyes, but humored Toby with a very dry expectoration and a sprinkle of salt over her shoulder. Danny had disappeared sometime during the course of the evening, though Donna wasn't entirely sure where or when. At any rate, CJ didn't seem to be looking for him when she waved an arm in Donna's direction. “Come, Donnatella, we are off to the house of women, where there is wine and chocolate and no men of any sort. It shall be as unto paradise.” 

Donna laughed and poked Sam in the arm. “My ride's pulling out,” she told him. “You sure you're okay at Toby's?” 

“What? Oh, yeah, fine,” Sam agreed with a slow and beautiful grin. He'd also had too much to drink, but he was a happy and very agreeable drunk. 

“You're going to take a taxi, right? No driving?” Donna reminded him, turning him to face her and tapping a finger against his cheek to make sure he was paying attention.

“Absolutely none,” he confirmed. “I shall not drive a car, nor shall I drive the wind or the winter snows, and I shall even forbear from driving the computer drive, for I know that I am inebriated.” 

“There you go,” she agreed, chuckling. “I'll call you tomorrow so we can go to the White House.” 

Sam nodded in agreement. “You're startlingly beautiful,” he told her, apropos of nothing. “I wish I could kiss you.” 

Donna blinked, her breath catching a little in her throat. “Ask me when we're not drunk,” she told him quietly, “and maybe I could kiss you back.” She squeezed his fingers and turned to follow CJ out of the bar, her heart hammering in her chest. 

CJ was loquacious on the trip home in the towncar, equally interested in talking about Ellie Bartlet's recent wedding (Donna hadn't been able to attend) and the havoc the Republicans were about to unleash upon Washington. It was the most relaxed Donna had seen CJ since the former press secretary had stepped into Leo's very large shoes, and she suspected that the job had taken more out of her friend than CJ would ever have admitted. Having a fixed end date in sight had to be something of a relief, even if it meant turning the White House over to rivals. 

By the time they got back to CJ's apartment, Donna was sobering up a little bit, and not particularly tired. To her West Coast body, it was barely ten o'clock. CJ's home was cozy and pleasant, though a bit unlived-in around the edges, and with a Secret Service outpost set up in the basement because CJ had categorically refused to let them take over her second bedroom. Instead of wine and chocolate, they settled on tea and Bonnie's pumpkin bread, eaten in the living room in front of beautiful french windows that CJ hadn't been allowed to unshade or open for a year and a half. What a strange way to live. “It's too bad Danny had to go,” Donna finally commented, hiding her curiosity badly. “You looked like you were having fun.” 

CJ frowned and waved a dismissive hand. “He had a thing come up. It happens. I'd be the worst kind of hypocrite to complain about his job calling him away when I break half our dates, usually with no notice, because of mine.” 

“So you guys are really dating now?” 

“Donna, please. I get enough of that from Margaret.” CJ put a hand over her eyes. “I have no idea what we're doing,” she admitted. “Except scaring the hell out of me, which is self-evident. I can handle Kazakhstan, India and China ten times a day without blinking lately, but that scruffy reporter has me diving for cover every time he talks about how he's leaving the press room or the book deal he's lining up, or how he wants to hold my hand.” 

“It's because he represents the future,” Donna observed sagely, significantly emboldened by the wine. “You're not scared of Danny, you're scared of all the choices you have to make when you step out of the White House. You're going to have to learn new skills.” 

“I've been thinking about learning to ski,” CJ replied thoughtfully, agreeing without really agreeing at all. It would've worked better if she hadn't taught Donna the technique herself years ago. “Do you think I could ski?” 

“I think you'd break your everything,” Donna told her. “But really, you've been able to kick so much stuff down the road because being in the White House means you can't even think about it. Now you're going to have to think about it and decide what to do about it.” 

“Do I detect the voice of experience there, Donnatella?” CJ asked archly. “You and Sam were looking fairly adorable tonight, I have to say.” 

“One piece of gossip at a time,” Donna insisted. 

“Fine,” CJ muttered with an exasperated sigh. “I think Danny might have obliquely, in a ridiculous way and with terrible timing, asked me to either move in with him or to marry him.” 

Donna blinked. “Wow. What did you say?” 

“Well, at the time I said something like 'Oh shit, my pager is going off because Southern California is about to become a radioactive wasteland' and ran out of the restaurant like my ass was on fire.” CJ sipped her tea. “It was kind of hard to bring it up again and ask about it after that.” 

“That really was bad timing,” Donna commiserated. “But he's nothing if not persistent. He'll bring it up again.” 

“That's what I'm afraid of.” CJ sighed and dunked the corner of her pumpkin bread into her teacup. “I have no idea what I'm going to say. But I'm not talking about it anymore or I'm going to get maudlin and break out the wine. It's your turn. You, Sam. Spill it.” 

“There's not much to spill,” Donna ventured tentatively, picking at the edge of her own bread. “We've been spending a lot of time together since I moved out to California. I probably spend more time at his place than I do at my own, especially if you're only counting awake time.” 

“So no sleepovers, then,” CJ guessed. 

“We haven't even kissed,” Donna admitted. “You're not the only one who kicked a lot of stuff down the road in order to stay in the White House. I've spent a lot of time this year making peace with myself over a lot of mistakes and regrets and... I just haven't been ready. Is it weird?” she asked abruptly. 

“Is what weird?” CJ asked, much too cagey to answer such a broad question. 

“Me and Sam,” Donna clarified. “I mean, after we worked together for so long, and after...” 

“After you pined for Josh for six years?” CJ asked bluntly. 

“You were more tactful when you were press secretary,” Donna complained. 

“No I wasn't, you were just younger and I didn't want to crush your tiny feelings.” CJ grinned. “Take it as a compliment.” 

“Oddly enough, I kind of do,” Donna realized. “It's probably the alcohol talking. But you still haven't answered the question.” 

CJ paused to think for a second. “Okay, maybe it's a little weird for the first minute or two,” she admitted. “I got very used to thinking of you and Josh like a joined symbiotic being, and got much too used to getting headaches over Sam's unsuitable women. But after that initial reaction, it's not weird. You look really comfortable together, and you've got that thing with all the little incidental touches.” She sighed. “I miss the little touches stage.” 

Donna relaxed. “I think you're headed in that direction. Danny seems like he'd be good with that sort of thing.” 

“He does have excellent hands,” CJ mused, with a look on her face that suggested this was not idle speculation. “But it's the little touches that are really important. Sex is easy. Getting along with somebody is hard. You've got to ask yourself if they're the person you want with you the next morning, or at lunchtime, or when you've got the really bad kind of flu.” 

“Yeah,” Donna mused, snugging her feet up into the chair and wrapping her arms around her knees. She stared at them moodily. “Being there is important, and it goes both ways. If you're not there for somebody when they need you, maybe your feelings weren't worth much to start with.” 

CJ made a loud buzzer noise, startling Donna into looking up. “Wrong!” she declared with an emphatic point of her finger. “And don't you dare start in with the guilt I can see written all over your face. Sometimes circumstances aren't right, sometimes things don't work out. Sometimes you've got something that might be perfect, and you just miss your chance.” She looked haunted for a second, and Donna wondered again how CJ was dealing with a Secret Service presence every day. “But that doesn't make the feelings you had less real. And just because you have feelings doesn't mean you don't get to take care of yourself and do what's best for you. If somebody loved you, that's what they'd want, right?” 

“I just wish it weren't so complicated!” Donna exclaimed, hearing the whine in her own voice. 

“If you don't want complicated, stay out of politics,” CJ advised dryly. 

“Or stay out of love,” Donna added, then raised her hands quickly. “No, don't make the buzzer noise again! It hurts my headache.” 

CJ glared at her. “Then don't say dumb things. You've got a chance here, Donna. From this angle, it looks pretty damn appealing. Sam's a good man, you're a good woman, you both deserve somebody who's going to be good to you. Don't screw it up because you can't stop asking yourself questions about the past.” She raised her eyebrows, and Donna could actually see her winding one up. “I mean, I'm sure Laurie was a very nice person-” This time Donna made the buzzer noise, and they both laughed off the topic. But it was something Donna kept thinking about when she went to bed that night. 

Visiting the White House the next day was strange, a little bit like visiting her high school the year after she'd graduated. Everything was familiar, a lot of the people were still the same, but it wasn't her place anymore. Things were hectic like always, even when the President wasn't sitting in the Oval Office that morning. It was very weird to see Carol in CJ's office, and even stranger to walk through the Operations bullpen and see a stranger at her old desk, and Cliff Calley sitting in Josh's office. Cliff's intervention in Leo's hearing had redeemed him somewhat in her opinion, but she didn't think she'd ever be able to look him in the eye, knowing he'd read her long-since-burned diary. Fortunately, his head was buried in a briefing book, and she sped right on past. 

She found Sam in the Communications bullpen, swapping stories of old times with Bonnie and Ginger while they all tuned out Toby's occasional ranting over post-election reporting. Leo had a private office in the Residence now, which was unusual but not unheard of, especially for a special advisor to the President. Margaret escorted them up, talking a mile a minute about how they'd finally put nutritional labels onto everything in the mess after seven and a half years of her constant lobbying, and how she was certain that they were doing it now, eight weeks before the administration turned over, just as a show of spite to her personally. 

Donna had only ever been in the Residence a handful of times, and was still a little intimidated by it now. Leo's office was in a small converted bedroom on the second floor, near the living areas but not so close as to encroach on their privacy. On the wall there was a large whiteboard with a countdown of days and a list of issues important to the administration. Some of them had checkmarks next to them, others led to sublists of action steps with their own checkmarks. Obviously Leo had taken it upon himself to keep the administration on track during its last days in office. The man himself rose as she and Sam came in, surprising her when he hugged first Sam, then Donna herself. 

“It's great to see you both,” Leo said, giving them the warm smile he reserved for his friends. “It's been way too long since you were back here.” 

“It's good to be back,” Sam declared with the same pleased surprise that Donna was feeling. “You're looking well!” 

“Clean living,” Leo told him drolly. “Working eight hours and no more, and having a doctor on site to kick my ass if I so much as sniff a cream sauce. It's painful, but she promises it'll put fifteen years on my life. You're looking well too,” he told Donna. “Leg not giving you any more trouble?” 

“Clean living,” she repeated with a laugh. “I actually started going to physical therapy, and stopped running marathons through the corridors. It's hard to give it all up, though, isn't it?” 

“Absolutely,” Leo agreed with an understanding nod, “but it's worth it. Have a look at this.” He picked up a small blue volume from the credenza, and Donna had to stifle a chuckle at the idea of Leo McGarry owning anything called “Grandpa's Brag Book,” but at the same time it made perfect sense. Leo proudly showed them pictures of Mallory and her husband, and many, many pictures of a baby with very red hair. Donna cooed in all the appropriate places, meanwhile glancing at Sam for his reaction. He seemed genuinely pleased for Leo, and only politely interested in the pictures themselves. “I figure I've gotta be around to teach this one about baseball and politics, so I just shut up and let Abbey fuss at me,” Leo explained. 

They talked a little about the Senate race in California, all in very oblique terms given that it was still two years out. Leo dropped a few names of his old friends in the party, which Donna made careful note of for later. While they were talking, the President's new body man, Curtis, showed up to escort all three of them to the East Sitting Hall, where President Bartlet himself was sitting by the complicated wheel-shaped window and reading. Donna kept her mouth mostly shut, remembering how she'd managed to embarrass herself the last time she'd been invited up here by a member of the First Family, but it turned out that the President mostly wanted company and an audience for his newfound knowledge on modern childbirth. 

Things had been very different when his own children were born, the President explained, and he also hadn't had very much time to devote to learning about the miraculous process and intricate science that melded together to create the everyday miracle of bringing new life into the world. It had hardly been better with Liz, who lived far away (and who had, Donna knew, been very young when Annie was born). He'd hardly been able to be involved with that, and was lucky to see his Westin grandchildren a few times a year. But Ellie, Ellie was a doctor herself, and Ellie was nearby, and suddenly the busiest man in the free world was faced with a lot of time on his hands. Donna politely listened to the President's newfound knowledge about cesarean rates and pre-birth preparation classes, and tried not to laugh at the idea of what Ellie's reaction to all of this had to be. She suspected there would be several epic blow-ups before this third grandchild was ever born. 

Eventually he wound down from his lecture, looking around at his listeners. “I'm going to miss this place,” he said with a tinge of melancholy. “I really can't wait to get back to New Hampshire and my farm, but I will miss this every day. Not just the work, and certainly not all the frou-frou decorations,” he added with a derisive wave to the room around them. “But this, having a group of talented and dedicated people around me who are changing the world. So many of you have gone out on your own now, but you come back here, to this building, to this great symbol of democracy. I can't help but think that once I return to Awesiki Odanack, that place beyond the village, how many of you will be able to take the time from your careers to rejoin an old man in his waning years and relive the glory days?” 

Donna had the sudden, irreverent thought that President Bartlet was suddenly sounding a lot like her mother. Sam's thoughts were obviously along the same lines, judging by the sparkle in his eye when he asked, “Sir, was that a request that we come and visit you at the farm sometime?” 

Leo laughed, even as President Bartlet harumphed. “I know you're going to be very busy, and far away...”

“You know you only have to ask, Sir,” Sam promised smoothly. “We'd be honored by the invitation.” 

“Absolutely, sir,” Donna agreed, though she was almost sure the exhortation had been directed at Sam. 

“Well, all right then,” the President said, seeming mollified. “I'll hold you to that. But for now I have to convince my wife that I should be allowed downstairs to play with the other children for a few hours so that CJ's not left running the country all by herself. It makes her very prickly. Are you two heading back tonight?” 

“Yes sir,” Sam said, “we're flying out late this afternoon. I have to take a deposition on Thursday.” 

“Well next time you're just going to have to visit longer. But it's very nice to see you both. Take care of each other out there in California.” He stood, so they all stood, and excused himself back to his private rooms. Sam and Donna left not long afterwards, saying their goodbyes and heading through heavy traffic to the airport. 

The flight back to Los Angeles was long, but Donna didn't mind it too much. She had an audiobook and an electronic solitaire game, and eventually she caught up on a little sleep as well. Sam had his trial preparation materials, but he lasted even less time than Donna before succumbing to sleep. Donna suspected that a child-sized guest bed with Teletubbies sheets was not as restful as CJ's plus bedroom. She just hoped that Toby had gotten a picture. 

They didn't really talk much until they were back at Sam's car and winding their way through the late-night streets towards Donna's apartment in Mar Vista. “It was nice to go back,” Sam decided. “It was good to be with everybody for the changing of the guard. We've celebrated and mourned with them too long not to have been there.” 

Donna nodded agreement. “And you also do great karaoke when you're drunk. I'd never realized that about you.” 

“I'm a man with untold depths of hidden talent,” he told her modestly. “Toby says he's thinking about staying in DC after January to be around Andy and the kids.” 

“That makes sense. CJ hasn't decided where she's going to go yet, but I think the answer is going to be “anywhere she wants,” Donna observed. 

“Sometimes having too many choices just makes it harder.” 

“True,” Donna agreed. “But she's with Danny Concannon, did you know that?” They swapped harmless bits of gossip all the way to her apartment, where he got out and came around to help her manage her luggage through the narrow hallway and in her door with only a minimal amount of bumping and swearing.

Donna hung her garment bag from the kitchen doorframe and looked over at Sam. “Do you want some coffee or a beer?” she asked. Her apartment was small enough that even now he was only a few feet away. 

“I don't think so,” he told her, “I need to get home and get the rest of this reading done for tomorrow. But hey, tomorrow night is the tapas special at that wine bar near my place. We should go.” 

“Sounds nice,” she agreed, taking a step closer to him. “I'm glad we went on this trip together. It was nice.” 

“It was,” Sam agreed gravely, taking his own step forward, so they were nearly touching. “Donna, do you remember what we said last night, at the bar?” 

“Yes,” she murmured, her eyes widening a little as she watched him. 

“We're not drunk now.” His voice was very certain, but still he didn't move in. He was watching her, waiting for her. 

“That's true.” Donna raised her hand, feathering her fingers lightly along his cheek, feeling warm smooth skin, dusted with stubble. Sam was such a puzzle, smelling like expensive aftershave and always put together like a GQ model, but with the earnest, hopeful, half-fearful expression of a teenager on a first date. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his, softly, but with unmistakable intent. In a heartbeat he was right there with her, sliding his long fingers through her hair, gently cupping her scalp as the kiss deepened and opened. Donna could feel herself getting a little lost, putting her free hand on his shoulder and holding on for dear life as they explored one another at length. 

Finally, when she'd lost all track of time, he pulled back, breathing heavily. “That... that was really something,” he managed, still cupping her face in his palm. 

She smiled, feeling her own heart racing in her chest. “See, this is why they let you write the speeches.” 

Sam grinned at that, but then his expression became more serious. “I don't even want to ask, but I feel like if I don't, it's just going to be there between us. What about Josh?” 

Donna's face fell a little too, but she made up for it by taking Sam's face in both of her hands, concentrating fully on him. “Josh is special,” she told him, parroting back his own words of months ago. “And I think he always will be.” Before Sam could frown or pull away, she stepped closer, aligning their bodies. “But you're special too, Sam. And this isn't about him.” She kissed him again, and after a moment he returned it, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close enough that she could feel the beat of his heart. 

They kissed until Donna was growing restless, not for an end but for something else, something more. She pressed herself up against him but he pulled back, looking more regretful and reluctant than she thought she'd ever seen him. “God, Donna, I don't want to leave, but this deposition...” 

He looked so torn that she had to laugh, even though her body was still humming. “Go,” she told him, “go do your work. We can pick this up tomorrow after tapas.” She brushed one more kiss over his lips, which seemed to cheer him considerably, then sent him on his way. Her own lips were still tingling as she sat down to sort the mail and hope she was doing the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that some of you loyal readers were not precisely looking forward to this day, sorry about that. :D Support group meeting is in the comments, and you can always check out some of my other fics for easier and less complicated romances. The story is far from over!


	24. Be Ready to Live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, it's Chapter 24! I've left a little space in the narrative here that I may backfill later, but it's nonessential and fluffy and I do eventually need to get all the way to the end of the Bartlet administration. Some discussion of sex here, but we're still pretty PG-13, in line with the rating. Thanks to everyone for their amazing and wonderful comments last chapter, you guys are all very sweet. Though I was a little bit surprised that nobody even mentioned Leo showing up the day after Election Day, because that was my personal favorite part. ;-) Reviews and feedback are always welcome and encouraged!

The sky was still dark when Donna's cell phone began to ring, its obnoxiously cheerful melody somehow even worse than the shrill of the alarm. Donna reached out and groped around for it on the nightstand, finally snagging it and flipping it open without looking. “Donna Moss,” she answered automatically, trying to sound chipper and alert at—she checked the clock—four thirty in the morning. Next to her, Sam snorted in amusement and buried his head under the pillow. 

“Hey, it's me,” CJ's unmistakable voice came over the line. “Were you sleeping?” 

“Just a little,” Donna replied dryly. 

“I forgot that people still do that,” CJ said, sort of like an apology, but Donna wasn't entirely sure it wasn't the truth. CJ really, really needed to get out of the White House. “Can you talk?” 

“Yeah, give me one minute.” Donna ran a hand lightly over Sam's bare back as she slid out of his bed. He hummed pleasantly but was fully asleep again by the time she'd shrugged into his bathrobe and padded through the living room and into the kitchen. “Okay, what's up?” 

“Couple things, actually. You know the thing with Danny?” 

“The thing with Danny?” Donna cudgeled her brain into working as she scooped coffee into a filter basket. “You mean your thing with Danny? The whole Danny... thing?” 

“Yeah, exactly.” CJ snorted. “It sort of defies description. Even after we started sleeping together, I still have no idea what to call him. It's completely ridiculous for a forty-two year old professional woman in politics to have a boyfriend with whom she goes on dates. It's adolescent.” 

“That is tough,” Donna murmured supportively, most of her attention focused on an attempt to pour water into the coffee machine. “Maybe he could be your tootsie-wootsie instead.” 

“I'll give that some thought. Are you actually awake?” CJ asked skeptically. 

“I'm making coffee at four-thirty in the morning and quoting you Meet Me In Saint Louis, I'm not sure how much more you want from me,” Donna pointed out mildly, slumping down at the breakfast bar and resting her chin on her fist. 

“Four-thirty's not that early,” CJ declared. “I get up that early most days.”

“That is because you are a crazy person and also White House Chief of Staff,” Donna pointed out. “We didn't go to sleep till like two anyway...” She trailed off in mild consternation. 

“You didn't, did you?” CJ's voice was suddenly filled with sharp, amused interest. “Donna, whose house are you at right now?” 

“Mmmmmm,” Donna began. “Weren't we talking about you and the Danny thing?” 

“We'll get back to it, this is more interesting. You're at Sam's, aren't you.” 

“Maybe?” 

CJ laughed. “I'm not the press secretary anymore, and you don't work here. And I'm on my cell phone, so maybe the NSA is listening in, but there aren't going to be transcripts. Come on, time to spill. Are you even wearing clothes now?” 

“If Sam's bathrobe counts,” Donna finally admitted with a chuckle. “I didn't want him to have to wake up at this ungodly hour too, just so I could find my clothes.” 

“Good for you! So how was it? Or should I ask how long it's been going on?” 

“Um, you know the night we flew back from DC?” 

“Really?” By now CJ was sounding downright delighted, and the coffee was finally, thank god, finished dripping. Donna poured herself a mug and added a liberal amount of flavored creamer with the phone still held to her ear. “That's what, almost six weeks now?” 

“Mm-hmm.” Donna sipped her coffee, her eyes still mostly closed. “We still have the same routine we always did, where I come over after work some nights and on weekends, it's just now I usually stay over.” 

“Much more convenient that way,” CJ pointed out. “How's the sex?” 

“CJ!” Donna laughed and sputtered. “You used to be so subtle.” 

“I've got a busy day, kiddo, unless you're Kazakhstan I've got no time for diplomacy.” CJ reminded her briskly. “And I'm really enjoying the prospect of taking a vicarious interest in somebody else's sex life and not having to yell at them for it, so give over.” 

“It's good,” Donna said, trying not to giggle into her coffee mug at CJ's loud, annoyed sigh. “Really good, okay? It's fun and romantic and... he's very considerate, you know? Very thoughtful and-and thorough.” She knew she was blushing furiously by now, and was glad they were having this discussion via cell phones. 

“Oh really?” CJ drawled. “That sounds promising.” 

“It's like he has a list in his head,” Donna tried to explain, “with checkboxes, of all the places that need attention, and he doesn't always go in the same order, but he really wants to make sure each box gets- oh god.” 

“That metaphor's getting away pretty fast, huh?” CJ inquired with faux sympathy. “So the thorough approach, this is good?” 

“Really good,” Donna repeated. “And he talks a lot. Like, a lot.” 

“Our Sam? Who'd ever have thought?” CJ laughed. “He does have a way with words.” 

“You're telling me,” Donna snickered, then dropped her voice. “Sometimes I wonder if he even needs to use his hands at all,” she muttered into the phone. “He just starts whispering and-” 

“Okay, now you're making me a little envious,” CJ admitted. Donna giggled and took another sip of her coffee, enjoying the feeling of her brain finally waking up. “You sound happy.” 

“It's really great so far,” Donna told her. “I worried it was going to be really awkward after the first night, figuring out how we were going to do things, if I should bring clothes over, all of that stuff, but it's just... not. Maybe it's because I've known him so long or because we were already spending so much time together, or maybe we just fit.” She swirled her spoon in her coffee for a minute, watching the little ripples. “We both have pretty crappy histories with relationships, so sometimes I worry that bad stuff is coming, but for right now I just want to enjoy this.” 

“There's nothing wrong with that,” CJ said firmly. “There's a lot to be said for happiness in the moment, right? That's hard enough to find, much less to try and project over some kind of indefinite future period. I mean really, there's no faster way to sabotage a relationship than to start looking too far ahead and trying to project what might happen when you're still trying to find your feet with what's happening now. It doesn't make you a bad person to want to think that way.” By the end, CJ's voice was more question than answer. 

“Of course it doesn't,” Donna agreed. “Does this have something to do with the Danny thing?” 

“Shit,” CJ muttered under her breath, just loud enough for the phone to pick up. “Guess I leaned on that a little too hard.” 

Donna suppressed the urge to giggle. “It sounded a little bit like you were giving yourself a pep talk instead of me. Is he pushing you?” 

“He's doing the pushing-but-says-he's-not-pushing thing,” CJ explained, and Donna murmured in understanding. “And he's really good at it because he's been a reporter for twenty years and it's pretty much the first trick in his book. I told him weeks ago that if we were going to do a thing it would have to be after the inauguration because I'm just too damn busy for anything right now, and yet here I am six weeks later, waking up in his bed and he's inviting me to leave my toothbrush with him and giving me puppy dog eyes because I can't meet his sister tonight.” 

“Danny has a sister?” 

“Danny has three older sisters, and two living parents, and some kind of insane number of nieces and nephews, all of whom he has mentioned to me very offhandedly in the past few weeks.” CJ blew out a breath, which made a very loud noise into the phone. “He invited me to fly out with him to his family Christmas, but of course I couldn't go. I couldn't even make it to my own family Christmas, not that it was terribly jolly or anything, but it's like he hasn't even noticed that the world keeps trying to fall apart. I don't even know what I”m going to be doing for a job by the end of the month, much less what I want to do with the rest of my life.” 

“You still haven't found any offers you like?” Donna asked, more concerned by that than by the well-worn Danny drama. “Charlie said he needed two new file boxes just to hold all the letters.” 

“Yeah, so I hear,” CJ agreed, and her voice was suddenly quieter, duller. “When you left the White House, did you have an idea in mind of what you wanted your life to be like?” 

“Mostly I wanted to get away,” Donna admitted, “but I guess I did, yeah. I had a vision of someday having my own desk and office, where I was making a difference to the world in a bigger way. And other things too, like sometimes having days off, and helping Sam get elected to Senate, and being happy again.” She grinned a little at her coffee. “Not going too badly so far.” 

“I don't have a vision,” CJ confessed. “We have two weeks left in office and all that I see outside it is a fuzzy gray blur where I might get some sleep. It's not like I have a lot of time to plan things. I could only call you now because I got to work ten minutes early and I'd rather sit in the car than have Margaret pissy with me for throwing off her schedule.” 

“You'll figure it out,” Donna promised. of the corner of her eye she saw Sam ambling sleepily into the kitchen, clad only in boxer shorts and looking adorably rumpled. She smiled at him and gave him a finger wave; he smiled back and kissed the top of her head before heading for the coffee machine. “You don't have to have everything settled before Inauguration Day. You could always just take a break. Come out and visit Sam and me, or take a trip to Maui, or go see your brothers. It's okay if you don't know what you're doing right away.” 

“Tell that to Danny,” CJ muttered “Or Carol, or Margaret, or my two file boxes.” 

“You want me to call them for you?” Donna offered, half-amused and half-serious. “I could rough 'em up a bit. Especially Danny, I think he finds me intimidating.” 

“We're all terrified of you,” CJ agreed with a laugh. “I'll be fine, I'm just having a brief therapeutic nutty before work. And I'd better get going now before Margaret starts being pissy at me for being late instead of early. I'll talk to you later.” 

“Okay, night CJ, I mean, have a good day. Good luck!” Donna hung up the phone and got up to hook her chin over Sam's shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist and watching while he made toast. “Sorry I woke you up,” she told him. 

“Wasn't your fault,” he pointed out, giving her a quick good-morning kiss that tasted of coffee. “Is CJ okay?” 

“Yeah, mostly,” Donna reported. “She's tired and stressed. They all are, but she's taking on more of it than most, I think. The President and Leo are huge into the legacy thing, and that's great, but it's leaving a lot of day-to-day stuff to her. And she won't say anything, but I think it's a health issue as well. Neither of them are as strong as they used to be. Oh, but she approves of you and me. And she wanted details,” she added with a laugh. 

Sam raised his eyebrows. “And?” he pressed. “Did I pass muster?” 

“Your masculinity and reputation remain intact,” she assured him with a chuckle that she hid against his shoulder. “I'm sure CJ was deeply impressed at my glowing descriptions of your virility and prowess.” 

“When you say it like that, it sounds kind of weird,” he admitted. She giggled. “You didn't mention anything about the time with flowers, did you?” 

“Nope. Gimme some toast.” 

He handed her a piece of buttered toast without protest. “Because I did not know you were allergic to lilies of the valley.” 

“It never came up. It was sweet,” she assured him. “And I didn't have to go to the hospital, and the rash went away, so all in all it's something I am never, ever, ever going to tell anybody about, especially CJ because she would laugh much harder at me than at you.” 

“That's mildly reassuring,” he allowed. They both stood and ate toast for a few minutes, watching the first touches of color painting the pre-sunrise sky. “My prowess and virility, huh?” 

“Uh-huh.” Donna set down her toast. “It's still too early to be out of bed,” she pointed out. 

“You're probably right about that,” he agreed, somber but for the pleased anticipation in his eyes. “And now that I know this is being graded...” He followed her towards the bedroom. 

“Graded on a curve,” she pointed out cheekily. 

“Oh? Which one?” He reached out to trace her hips through the loose bathrobe. 

“I'm a very generous grader. You can pick.” He did, much to Donna's delight, and then went back for some extra credit as well. There were definitely benefits to thoroughness. 

 

The next morning, Donna's phone rang again before dawn. Donna cracked an eye open to glare at it, but when it didn't obligingly burst into flames, she answered it. “Hello?” 

“Good morning, Donna!” came CJ's cheerful voice, all but singing the words. 

“We need to work on your definitions,” Donna muttered, but pushed herself to sit up. 

“I'm not going to take much of your time this morning,” CJ promised. “I just need one little favor.” 

CJ sounded happier than she had yesterday, Donna noted. A lot happier. “What do you need?” 

“Well, I haven't lived in LA for almost ten years, so I don't know as much about it as I used to. I was hoping you or Sam could give me the name of a realtor to help me find a place near you. You see I got this amazing job offer from Frank Hollis... But it can wait till later if you're sleeping.” 

Donna's excited squeal was more than loud enough to wake Sam up too.


	25. A Little Bit More Time With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 25, can you believe it? I took a couple extra days on this chapter because I was storyboarding through the end of part two. It's cool to have a plan! Speaking of which, stay tuned for Chapter 26, where we finally get to see what Josh has been up to all this time! Feedback is always awesome, I love to hear what people think of this story and all the stories I've been posting.

“God, what a day!” Donna looked up from her textbook when Sam walked in the front door, already tugging off his tie and shedding his suitcoat. His dark hair was ever-so-slightly disordered, a sign of major Sam Seaborn trauma.

“Another long one?” she asked sympathetically. 

“They're all long lately,” he assured her, kicking off his shoes before coming to join her on the couch. “I swear to God, I think just having a Republican in the White House has released some sort of miasma into the political atmosphere. We do our best to maintain our idealism, we reach for the same stars we did in happier times, but our efforts fall short, choked by the pollution.” 

Donna petted his hair back into place. “Now you sound like Josh, but with much loftier prose,” she teased. 

“Well, I'm beginning to think he had a point,” Sam complained. “I thought dealing with the Department of Labor was annoying and tedious already, but that was before the ascendancy of one former Congressman Mitchell 'Call me Bud' Williamson. Why the hell would anybody call him Bud anyway, with a name like that?” 

“Because he drives them to drink?” Donna suggested, leaning in to kiss his ear. That was pleasant, so she continued on, trailing kisses along his jawline. 

“That's probably a safe bet...” Sam trailed off, scooting around on the couch so he could face her more fully. He captured her mouth for a proper kiss, then asked, “Are you trying to distract me?” 

“Mm-hmm.” She slid into his lap and undid his top two collar buttons. “Trying to soften you up.” 

He tilted his head, touching his forehead lightly to hers. “Uh-oh. How bad is this going to be?” Sam's apprehension didn't stop him from returning the favor with her blouse, deftly working even the decorative little buttons. 

“Not too bad,” she assured him. “Practically painless, really.” More buttons, and a pout. “I don't like when you wear undershirts. It's not cold in California.” 

“No, but I do sweat,” he pointed out, shrugging out of his shirt. “You're wearing a camisole.” 

“That's because my shirt is translucent in bright sunlight,” she informed him with a grin, even as she set it aside. 

Sam decided that image was pretty distracting in and of itself. He wondered if he could convince her, maybe out in the courtyard... no, probably not. But it was a hell of a picture. He ran his fingers along the lacy top edge of her camisole, knuckles brushing lightly against the sensitive flesh underneath. She drew in a quick breath, almost as distracted as he was to judge by the soft pink flush beginning to cover her pale skin. “All right, so spill.” 

Donna blinked at him. “What?” He chuckled and toyed with the straps of her top as she regrouped. “Right. Well, it's February, as you know...” 

“Okay, that's true.” He amused himself by making little curlicues on her shoulders with the tips of his fingers. 

“So we've been pretty much living together here for almost three months now.” Donna squirmed, but he was pretty sure it wasn't from discomfort. “I have more of my stuff here than I have at my apartment at this point.” 

“You certainly do have a lot of stuff,” Sam agreed easily. He was already fairly sure where this was going, but he couldn't say he wasn't enjoying himself along the way. “I find that strangely endearing about you. Though we're going to need new shelves in the bathroom or something, because that's getting a little out of control.” 

She drew back, pouting again. “You have at least as much bathroom stuff as I do,” she pointed out. “Probably more, and you don't even wear makeup!” 

“Hence the shelves,” he reminded her. “Is that what you wanted to talk about? We could go to IKEA.” He stifled a laugh at her aggravated expression. “Come to think of it, I could use some new napkin rings, and maybe another hundred little candles...” He started laughing for real when she pushed him back flat onto the couch. 

“Now you're just being difficult,” she accused him, but she was laughing too. “I'm trying to do something here.” 

“You're softening me up,” he reminded her. “I think it might not be having precisely the intended effect, but I'm certainly not about to naysay it. We could always change the venue, though.” 

“You're going to make me say it all at once and it's going to sound stupid,” she complained. 

“All right, I'm sorry, I'm listening,” he told her, folding his hands behind his head. 

“Okay,” she began, still leaning over him with her hair nearly brushing his chest. “We've been practically living together for almost three months now, and it seems to be working out very well, bathroom shelves notwithstanding. I was talking to Carol today, CJ's Carol, and she's going to be moving out here in a few weeks to start at the Hollis Foundation with CJ. She hasn't got a place to live yet, and I was thinking, well wouldn't it be convenient and easy if I could just sublet her my apartment for a month or two while she's finding a place of her own?” 

Sam tilted his head to one side and regarded her. She really was very distracting from this angle. “So you want to move in here for two months so Carol can have your apartment? You're a very good friend, Donna.” 

“I was thinking that maybe it would be like a test,” she hedged, “to see how we really get along together in one household. And maybe if it works out...” 

“Ah, so it's a proposition, then.” He pulled her down and kissed her, just to put her out of her misery. She seemed inclined to go along with that plan. “Real estate is pretty hard to find around here,” he finally said, his voice a little muffled because he was nibbling her ear. “And you've got what, two boxes of stuff left over there?” 

“Something like that,” she admitted. “It kind of just happened that way.” 

“Honestly, I think it's a great idea,” he told her, pleased when her face brightened with that sunshine smile. “I've been thinking about asking you, but it seemed like it might be too soon. And we needed shelves first.” He oofed obligingly when she gave him a laughing shove in the chest. “But you're my campaign strategist. How's it going to look, me shacking up with a gorgeous blonde with a mind like a steel trap?” 

“It's 2007, Samuel,” Donna pointed out. “It's California. People would be more surprised if you weren't living with somebody. Anybody who cares at all isn't going to be coaxed into voting Democrat anyway.” 

“Good point,” he agreed, pulling her down for another kiss. “And we do have rather stunning personal charisma, if it comes to convincing people,” he murmured against her lips.

She sank into the kiss and lingered there for a long few moments. “Well, that's the god's honest truth.” They continued on in that vein for several minutes, until Sam had lost his undershirt and Donna her camisole, and it just seemed much smarter to continue the conversation in the very comfortable California king bed they would now officially be sharing. 

As Donna led him by the hand towards the bedroom, she tossed over her shoulder. “Oh, and for the softening up bit? Danny and CJ are coming over on Friday, he wants to watch the basketball game on the big TV.” 

“Oh come on!” Sam protested, even as he followed her into the bedroom. “He's a Celtics fan! I can't even take him seriously!” 

“I'm sure you'll survive.” 

 

By Tuesday night, Sam was at least philosophical about the idea of having to watch basketball with a Celtics fan, and Donna had moved the rest of her things into his condo. It was a bit of a shift because most of what she'd left for last was decorative items, her pictures and tchotckes, all the things that made an apartment into a home. She'd seemed reticent to unpack them, as though she weren't quite sure she ought to be intruding so blatantly into his space, so he'd taken the liberty of unpacking most of them for her while she was at study group on Sunday evening. 

Despite what people said about erudite men of impeccable personal grooming, Sam did not have much of an eye for interior decorating. It didn't seem to matter where all the little statues and candles went, and hanging all the pictures in an irregular sunburst on the living room wall added visual interest, in his opinion. Donna had been a little stunned to come home and see what he'd done, but then she'd laughed for five full minutes and taken him to bed, so he considered it a job well done. She'd gone ahead and rearranged everything all over again after that, until the condo looked a lot more like both of them. 

It was almost game time before CJ and Danny arrived, beers and snacks in hand, but there was still enough time for basic socialization. Donna had been going for lunches with CJ, but Sam hadn't gotten a chance to see her since they'd helped her and Danny move into their condo six weeks ago. She looked five years younger already, with so much stress melted away and replaced by the excitement of a new challenge. California, Sam decided, was a very good place for burned-out politicos. Really a lot better than Florida, no matter what anybody said. You couldn't recover from political burnout in a swing state. Danny looked about the same as always, scruffy and generally pleased with himself, but there was a satisfaction about him that Sam had never noticed before. He'd wondered if the veteran reporter would be happy taking a teaching job at UCLA, but so far it seemed to be agreeing with him. Sam asked him about it while they were waiting for the pregame show to wrap up. 

“It's a lot different than reporting, that's for sure,” Danny told him. “Kids these days can't spell worth a damn.” He leaned back against the sofa with his beer nocked easily between thumb and forefinger. “Luckily, they sweetened the deal by giving me a couple of TAs to do most of the grading, so I'm mostly planning lessons and lecturing. Which means,” he admitted, “three hours a week getting to tell all my best stories to a bunch of young and malleable minds who haven't heard them yet.” 

“When you put it that way, it sounds pretty good,” Sam allowed. 

“It's a little depressing though,” Danny admitted. “Most of the kids in the program are bright, and some of them are really sharp. If they'd been coming up along with me, they'd be looking at bright futures, but god only knows what's going to happen with print journalism anymore. Half of them will probably end up freelancing for news blogs, and I don't know what to tell them.” He took a drink. “Also, it makes me feel incredibly old.” 

“It really is unfair that we keep getting older,” Sam agreed. 

“Says the man who still looks thirty,” Danny countered. “When are you starting your campaign? You might need to spray some gray on your temples.” 

“We're still revving up the money machine right now,” Sam told him, one hand automatically going up to check his hair. “Another four or five months till the fundraising starts. You going to come on tour with us?” 

“Not hardly,” Danny said with a laugh. “The campaign bus experience was bad enough when I was covering the Lassiter campaign in 1992, and somehow they never got any better as I got older. I don't think the first Bartlet bus had any shocks at all.” 

“I loved that bus,” Donna protested as she and CJ came in with glasses of wine and bowls of chips. “It was like my home away from home.” 

“That's the one you slept on for three weeks before we noticed you weren't renting motel rooms, right?” CJ recalled. “In New Hampshire, in January?” 

“I was from hardy Wisconsin stock, once upon a time,” Donna reminded her. “And I had a sleeping bag.” 

“See, there's the sort of stories I need to get out of you people,” Danny observed with a grin. 

“Oh no, no way. That's not going in your book,” Donna protested with a laugh. 

“What book?” Sam asked. 

“Aside from trying his hand at teaching, Danny's decided to write the Big Book of Bartlet,” CJ told him, sliding one arm around Danny's shoulders. “The President and Abbey have both agreed to give him interviews, and he's going to be trying to get all of us to spill our guts on how things really happened in the Bartlet White House.” 

Donna grinned at Sam. “We might need you to look up some statutes of limitation first,” she told him. “But if anybody writes our story, it ought to be Danny.” 

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “You were right there for most of the big stuff,” he allowed. “Even if most of the time you were just causing more trouble.” 

“Hey, journalist,” Danny reminded him. “That's my job.” 

“And don't I know it,” added CJ, elbowing him lightly. 

“Are you going to interview all the senior staff?” Sam asked suddenly. 

“I'm going to try,” Danny said. He sobered a little. “I've already talked to Mallory, she's going to let me look through some of Leo's papers.” 

“Have you talked to Josh?” Donna asked. Sam looked at her, but couldn't quite read what thoughts were going through her head. It was the same question he'd been going to ask, though, so maybe he could guess. 

“Not yet,” Danny told her. “But I will. We go back a long way, and from what I hear, he's back to work now, sort of. Consulting and pundit stuff at least.” 

That was news to Sam, and to Donna as well from the look of it. “Josh is a pundit now?” Donna asked, sounding rather disbelieving. 

“He's in high demand on Capitol Beat and Nightly Nation, a voice fresh from the trenches, as it were.” Danny chuckled. “Plus they don't have to fish very hard to get him to start pot-shotting the administration.” 

“Isn't that a little tricky given that Matt Santos is HUD Secretary now?” CJ asked. 

Danny shrugged. “I haven't heard him call out Santos specifically yet, but I can't imagine Josh was too pleased when Santos took the hand across the aisle. Gonna be a little awkward to run against the incumbent president when you've been a member of his cabinet for years.” 

“Of course, there's nothing saying that Josh has to run Santos again in four years,” CJ pointed out. “Maybe he's done with campaigning.” 

“Maybe he just needs a different campaign,” Donna mused. CJ gave her a look that was frankly skeptical, but Donna missed it on account of staring into her beer. 

“Hey, they're finally starting the game,” Danny noted. “The East Coast audience is probably asleep by now.” Conversation drifted off, but Sam found himself unable to concentrate on the game. It had been four months since he'd last spoken to Josh, the longest period of silence since Josh had come to New York to find him nine years ago. Something needed to be done.


	26. Interlude IV: Got to Go Through Hell Before You Get To Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, and here's Interlude Four for your reading pleasure! This chapter officially takes me over 150k words of West Wing fic since I started writing this piece, so that's quite exciting. Stay tuned next for an actual chapter from Josh's perspective, a first for this fic! (That's also why this chapter stops where it does, I'm not copping out!) Thank you all for your feedback and encouragement, it is always welcome.

Not watching the news was a calm and pleasant, if boring, way to live. Josh managed to do it for a couple of months, sequestering himself like a hermit in his mother's house. He read all the history books and suspense novels he hadn't gotten around to in the past nine years, learned bridge and cribbage from his mom, and completely failed to master sudoku. The ulcer healed up, somewhat to his surprise, to the point where he could eat normal meals again. Normal meals were another weird thing to get used to again. They made him feel a little melancholy, weirdly enough, made him miss Donna and her hovering. She and Sam were still calling, each of them separately, every other week or so. They'd always been bad at following directions. Hannah nudged him gently to call them each time she passed along a message, but she saved most of her ammunition for battles over his health, and mostly things were peaceful. 

Peace was not a natural state for Joshua Lyman. For thirty years he'd been a man living for the fight, starting when he'd made his best friend student body president in high school. Josh wasn't WASP enough to win an election himself in Westport, Connecticut, but it was a sure bet that people listened to his ideas in student council. He'd discovered he liked that better, the power without the posturing, being able to govern without actually having to talk to constituents. He'd gone on to do the same thing at Harvard and Yale, taking a year to learn the political systems in play, then finding himself a candidate and making himself their right-hand man. It had taken longer to learn the ropes in Washington, still longer to position himself as that ideal lieutenant, but he'd done that too. He'd put two Congressmen in office (including one Republican, to his chagrin), masterminded a senior Senator's tough reelection fight, and gotten himself into the whip's office, all before he was thirty-five. He'd been the obvious choice for John Hoynes' presidential campaign, and when he'd jumped ship to Governor Bartlet, people had taken notice. After that campaign had come the years of actually trying to govern, the toughest re-election fight of his life, and then the disaster that was Santos for President. It didn't matter that nobody else was calling it a disaster, Josh knew one when he saw it. And now there was the peace that came from being washed-up in middle age, with no more battles to fight. 

Even as he thought those things, he could hear Sam's voice in his head, laughing at him, arguing with him. There were fights still happening out there, they were just happening without Josh for now. Sam was facing a fight soon, one that Josh had tacitly promised to be a part of years ago. He was a good candidate, a great candidate, and with Donna organizing him he would probably be the best prepared candidate in California senatorial history, but Sam still didn't know how to fight this fight. He'd have to hire someone, maybe Lou Thornton, maybe Will Bailey, maybe somebody else. They were good operatives, they'd run smart campaigns. But they didn't know Sam, so how could they tailor the campaign the way it needed to be done? Josh knew that if he'd been handling Sam's congressional campaign in the 47th, Sam would have been a Congressman already. But Sam had been running away that time, and Josh couldn't follow him. This time Josh was running away, and he didn't think he could go back. It was time to let go and move on at last. 

That resolution, along with his news fast, lasted precisely into October, when one night his mother called to him from the living room just as he was heading for bed. His first question was why she was up so late when she was supposed to be an old woman, but he swallowed his smart-aleck remark as soon as he saw the headlines on the television screen. A nuclear disaster in California, somewhere near LA. Josh didn't know much about the geography of California, or pretty much anything west of Manassas, really, but he knew that the red blob on the map encompassed at least part of greater Los Angeles. And he knew, with sudden, devastating clarity, that he had no idea where Sam or Donna were living right now. They both worked in the downtown at whatever the name of that firm was, but in DC Donna had always lived far from work in neighborhoods that she described as exciting and he described as horrifying, and Sam would live near the ocean, which didn't narrow things down at all. He hadn't spoken to them in months, and now he didn't even know if they were safe. Without even being asked, his mother passed two phone numbers to him. 

He called all through the evening, getting busy signals every time he tried. Worst case scenarios ran through his head over and over. He pictured Donna broken down on the side of the road in her terrible old car that would definitely overheat in a standstill traffic jam. He pictured Sam cutting against the traffic to try and get down to the exclusion area because that was just how he was, helpful and enthusiastic and ridiculously unconcerned for his own well-being when there was a greater good at stake. He pictured either or both of them caught up in riots that the news shows weren't talking about, pictured Donna's frightened face as she watched the reactor actually melt down on the news, pictured Sam trying to call him over and over again but not getting through. 

And then on the twentieth call or the hundredth, he'd really lost track, Sam finally picked up the phone. The line was crackly, but he sounded normal. He sounded surprised and even happy to hear from Josh. God, wasn't that just like Sam? Sam could obviously hear the near-panic in his voice, and started talking about how they were safe and okay, how they were in a gated community far to the north of San Andreo and everything was going to be fine. Josh felt his heart rate start to slow for the first time since midnight, when he suddenly realized that Sam was speaking in the plural. Then Donna chimed in, and he realized that she and Sam were together, had been together all evening while he was frantically worried about them separately. 

Sam's explanation made sense; Josh would've insisted on doing the same thing if he'd been there. Donna's apartments were never safe enough. Together they were safer, together they could comfort one another through the danger. He'd already seen how close they were during the convention, despite the fact that Sam had a serious girlfriend. He wondered if Donna fixed his ties, wondered if Sam used his hand on her back to escort her places. He wondered how long it would take for them to forget about him entirely if they had each other to lean on. The words that filled his head were suddenly angry and vituperative, and it was all he could do not to let them come spilling out his mouth. He didn't even know what the hell was wrong with him. Sam and Donna had been friends for nearly a decade, and twenty minutes ago he'd been beside himself worrying about them. He was obviously losing his grip. Donna wanted to talk to him, wanted to know how he was doing, but that was obviously the last thing he could talk to them about, so he babbled a few hasty words and hung up even as she asked him not to. They were safe, and that was what mattered. 

As if San Andreo had broken some kind of mental block, Josh started watching the news again. Not obsessively, not like he might have in Washington, but an hour or two every day so he could keep an eye on things. He didn't want to be blindsided again. He watched the presidential race with surprisingly little interest. Vinick was going to win, even after the significant setback of the nuclear accident, but he wasn't a Haffley or even a Walken. Donna might even vote for him. When Election Day rolled around, Josh found he didn't want to vote for anyone. For the first time in his adult life, he considered not voting at all, but of course there were the down-ticket races to think of. He wrote in Jed Bartlet for president, wishing he could recapture a little bit of what it had felt like to cast that vote the first time. He hadn't been washed up once, and there'd been a time when he'd lived and breathed politics and it hadn't hurt. 

That night, instead of staying home and watching the returns, Josh had gone out to a bar with a crowd that felt too young and too happy for his liking and gotten shitfaced on too few drinks. He had a rusty nail for Donna and a seven and seven for Sam, a whiskey neat for Toby, and a shot of crème de menthe for CJ because by that point he couldn't stomach the idea of an entire grasshopper. It was like slamming a shot of Scope, but it did freshen his breath. By that point he was drunk enough that a lot of things started to seem like good ideas, while being not quite drunk enough to start vomiting on himself. It was a happy medium. He certainly didn't care about the election at that point. 

When a guy with dark hair and blue eyes sat down next to him and started talking about deep sea snorkeling, it seemed like a good idea to pretend he was talking about sailing. It seemed like a good idea to buy him a drink, so he did that, too. At some point it must've seemed like a good idea to go home with the guy, though Josh honestly didn't remember too much of that part. He woke early enough in the morning to take the walk of shame before his mother got up, and though she looked at him oddly a few times that day, she never asked. It didn't really matter, Josh figured. Nobody cared who a washed-up political operative was screwing. He took an STD test, just to be sure, but snorkel-guy was apparently clean, so in the end the only price Josh paid was a killer hangover and the strange, clinging guilt of infidelity to someone who had left him first, years ago. Both Sam and Donna called him in the days after the election, but he didn't feel ready to call them back yet. 

In December, Josh finally returned a phone call, though it was to CJ. She'd been calling once a month or so to check in, and he thought she was swapping hair care tips with his mother by now. He suspected that CJ's calls were Leo's calls and possibly the President's as well, the White House keeping track of his well-being. It seemed like he ought to call at least once before they all left office. CJ was happy to hear from him, more than he'd imagined she'd be, considering how he'd left her understaffed in the middle of crisis season to go run a ridiculous and unsuccessful campaign. It almost seemed as though she'd forgotten that as she asked him about Florida, about his sleep and his suntan and whether he was writing his memoirs and whether he thought she ought to try and write hers. Talking to CJ made him feel more himself than he had since the convention, sharper and smarter and more interested in all the things he used to care about. Clever, perceptive CJ never mentioned Sam or Donna, and he never asked about them, but she talked about Leo and the Bartlets and Toby and the twins, and Charlie and Zoey, all the other people he was missing. He didn't know who got bumped so that he was able to secure an hour of the Chief of Staff's time, but he was grateful for it. 

Just before Christmas, which Josh could tell because there were bell-ringers in Bermuda shorts outside the grocery store, he got a call from Matt Santos. Arnold Vinick, the new President-Elect of the United States, had offered him a Cabinet post, as Secretary of Housing and Urban Development. It was a surprising move, and a hell of an offer. Santos was clearly interested in taking it, but wanted to talk it over with the washed-up hack who had once been his closest political advisor. Josh had a half-dozen opinions, but in the end, he'd just advised Santos that if he wanted to run for President in four years, he couldn't be in Vinick's cabinet. Even washed-up, he knew that much was true, knew that no matter how he spun it, he couldn't sell a Matt Santos who was part of the administration and yet opposed to all it stood for. Santos thanked him for the advice. He took the cabinet post. Josh read about it in the newspaper and went out to get drunk again.

He wasn't completely oblivious to sense; he chose a different club this time, and stuck with beer after the rusty nail and seven-and-seven. That meant he was slightly more cognizant of what he was doing when the blonde woman sat down near him and sent him several long glances from half-lidded eyes. He knew who she wasn't, even as he bought her a drink and let her talk about her work, some kind of public relations gig for a new media company he couldn't have cared less about. And he managed to use a condom, which was another important step up from the first time, so that in the morning when he snuck out, all he had was the hangover and the nebulous cheating feeling again. After that, Josh decided he really needed to stop drinking. He admired Leo McGarry more than almost anybody he'd ever known, but he didn't want the same demons chasing him for the rest of his life. He could screw up enough while stone-cold sober. 

In that spirit, he avoided going out to a bar or club at all on Inauguration Day, and went to the beach instead. Even in Florida, the beach was cold and windy in January, the Gulf a sullen bottle-glass green under a cloudy sky. He walked for hours through the white sand, barefoot outdoors for the first time in years, and picked up cigarette butts and bits of litter as he went. It seemed like the first really productive thing he'd done in six months. That night Toby called, for the first time since the election, and Josh actually sat down and took the call. 

Despite being his usual taciturn self, Toby was a wealth of information Josh wanted to know, telling him where everybody was headed now that their days in the White House were officially over. Charlie was staying in Washington DC for another three years to go to law school, which he'd surely be brilliant at, while Zoey Bartlet coincidentally found yet another reason to extend her postgrad work. The elder Bartlets were off to New Hampshire, Leo to Boston, with Margaret following along after to make sure his life was sufficiently organized before she moved on to her next thing. CJ was on an early-morning flight to Los Angeles, where Danny Concannon and ten billion dollars of Hollis Foundation money were waiting for whatever she'd make of them. Even the mention of Los Angeles was enough to make Josh wince a little, but this was the phone so it was okay. Toby himself was staying in the District, working for the DNC and seeing his children whenever he could. Things still weren't good with Andy, but they weren't bad, Toby explained, and sometimes family was what you made of it. He told Josh to come back soon; that there was too much left to do for him to stay on the bench. Josh was noncommittal, but wondered if maybe Toby didn't think he was entirely washed-up after all. 

Just a few days later, Josh got a surprise call from the producer of the Taylor Reid Show. Now that the new administration was in place, they needed a new stable of critics to “keep things honest” as they seemed to like to put it. Josh had basically hated the Taylor Reid show while he was in the White House, but there was a certain appeal to the idea of them sticking it to the Republicans in the same way the Bartlet White House had gotten it. If nothing else, Taylor Reid seemed to enjoy baiting whoever was powerful, no matter what their political views. Besides, Josh wasn't speaking for anybody now, or at risk of being fired. He could finally say what he wanted without the considerable threat of CJ shoving his telephone receiver up his ass.

They agreed to a test segment, done via a rather large videophone rig that they sent to his house, and filmed five minutes on Vinick's newfound coziness with Big Oil since the nuclear near-miss. Josh actually enjoyed himself, and the segments became a near-weekly thing. Pretty soon Capitol Beat was calling as well for interviews by phone, and then Newsweek sent an offer for a series of op-eds for their magazines and blog pages. Suddenly Josh was working again, and he didn't even know quite how it had happened. It wasn't anything near the hectic pace of the White House, and it certainly wasn't anything he'd ever seen himself doing, but it gave pattern to his days and made his habit of watching the news something more than an old high school linebacker watching the NFL and reliving the glory days. His mom was pleased too, and beginning to nudge him towards possibly finding a condo of his own. That was actually reassuring; she wouldn't have done that if she hadn't thought he was getting well. 

Towards the end of February, he got a call from Danny Concannon, who he hadn't heard from since first night of the Democratic National Convention. Sunshine and CJ were obviously agreeing with the former reporter very much, to judge by his upbeat attitude even when Josh growled at him. Danny was writing the book on the Bartlet administration, the first authorized exploration of eight incredibly tumultuous years. He wanted interviews with all the senior staffers, including one Joshua Lyman, Deputy Chief of Staff. Josh was more than a little reluctant at first, but Danny leaned shamelessly on decades of friendship, then called in the favor owed from passing along the information on John Hoynes. (Josh owed Donna at least as much as Danny for that, but he knew she'd never collect, not if it meant recollecting that night.) Maybe it was some kind of transferred guilt, maybe it was just that he was ready to talk about the Bartlet administration again, or maybe it was the fact that Danny would be bringing Leo's papers along and Josh wanted to see them, but he found himself agreeing to a visit and an interview. Maybe it would be cathartic.


	27. Now I'm Only Falling Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader poll results are starting to come in, and the runaway winner in early voting was for "Another chapter of Such a Winter's Day," so here it is! This chapter is an exciting landmark, it's the first time in the entire story we get a non-interlude chapter from Josh's perspective! And also there's more Danny, never a bad thing. Mostly never. Hope you enjoy and leave me feedback! :)

Danny showed up on time at Josh's place with a six-pack, a bag of tacos, and a briefcase so large he'd probably needed to check it for the plane. Josh wasn't so sure about the briefcase, but all the rest were points in his favor, so he opened the door and let the scruffy reporter into his nearly-empty condo. 

“This is nice,” Danny commented, looking around. “Looks new. You decided to settle down here?” 

Josh shook his head. “It's a beach rental that didn't quite make it all the way to the beach. I've got it month-to-month till I get tired of it. Decided it was time I get out of my mother's guest room. It was starting to chafe a little.” 

Danny grinned. “Your mother is a saint and we both know it.” 

“She is,” Josh agreed readily, “which is why I can't live with her for too long at once.” 

“Seems like the time off was good for you, though,” Danny commented, carrying the food towards Josh's kitchen. “You were starting to look a little corpselike there for awhile.” 

Josh shrugged. “Everybody burns out eventually. My cardiologist says I probably would've had a heart attack by election day, the way I was going, so maybe it was just as well I lost.” He didn't believe that for a second, obviously, but he'd already had great success with it as a conversation stopper. Honestly, if he'd had a heart attack on election day, at least he'd have gone out at the top of his game. “So are those Leo's papers?” 

“Yeah, Mal's been keeping track of them while Leo's getting settled in Boston,” Danny replied, setting out tacos and little tubs of salsa. “Some of them will be going for the presidential library, but Margaret is insisting that everything needs to be digitized first in case of space invasion or boll weevils or something. Bottle opener?” 

“That sounds about right.” Josh rooted through the appropriate drawer, also nearly empty, and tossed the tool Danny's way. “How long do you think that retirement thing's going to last?” 

“CJ's got twenty bucks saying three months, but he's got a grandkid now, and there's a lot of restaurants in Boston. I gave him six. Carol thinks eight, and Sam and Donna argued about it for twenty minutes before giving him a full year, assuming he's going to be making several extended trips to New Hampshire during that time. Which, you know, not a bad guess. Frank Hollis wanted to get in on the pool, but I pointed out that he'd just guess one month and then go offer the guy a job he couldn't possibly turn down.” Danny popped the top on two beers and passed one to Josh. 

“Ten months,” Josh said confidently, taking a swig of his beer and reaching for his share of the tacos. “I'll put twenty on it.” 

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Do you know something we don't?” 

“Sam's senate campaign will kick into high gear by the end of December,” Josh pointed out. “Leo will sit out the holiday season, like you said, grandkid, but he's not going to be able to resist getting his fingerprints on Sam's campaign. And if he does, the pr- President Bartlet will talk him into it before the end of January.”

“If you say so,” Danny agreed amiably. He grabbed a plate of tacos and they headed to the table, a rather ugly black slab of pressed particleboard that had come with the condo. It served Josh's purposes well enough, since he usually ate in front of the TV anyway. “So, punditry,” Danny began. “How's that working out for you?” 

Josh shrugged. “It's a living. I could say whatever ridiculous bullshit I wanted on national television and the hosts would just shrug ask me another question about Vinick's agenda. Zero accountability. It's kinda like what I figure being in Congress must be like.” 

Danny snorted. “You're the new pride of the fourth estate.” They talked about his job a little more, then about Danny's job, about CJ's job. “It's pretty incredible,” Danny told him. “She's going to be spending a big chunk of next year traveling around Africa and getting these public works projects set up. I don't think I've seen her so excited about anything since the first Bartlet campaign.” 

That idea made Josh happy; he couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen CJ visibly excited about anything. Becoming the press secretary had made her cautious, curbed her naturally loquacious nature, and becoming chief of staff had already been wearing down what was left by the time he'd resigned. “I'll have to send her a pith helmet for her birthday. It's nice to hear she found something she loves doing. Are you going with?” 

“I'll be there some of the time. I've been to Kenya and Ethiopia before, so I've volunteered my services as tour guide and entertainment. Then there's Tanzania, Malawi, Angola, all places that would be fun to visit for the first time, though we probably won't have time to see much of the interesting stuff.” 

“Well yeah,” Josh agreed. “Not enough roads.” 

“There you go,” Danny raised his beer. “I'll be in the writing phase on the book by then, and I can do that from anywhere. We're figuring maybe six months away this first time, and she'll take shorter trips afterwards. Carol's subletting Donna's old place right now, but I'm thinking she can be persuaded to look after the house while we're gone.” 

Josh was suddenly distracted. “Where did Donna move to?” He'd looked up Mar Vista after the San Andreo thing; he knew where that was. If Donna had gone elsewhere, his mental map was full of uncertainty again. 

“She's out with Sam in Marina del Rey,” Danny said, sounding as though he were reminding Josh instead of dropping a bomb on his head. “They have possibly the largest television I've ever seen in a private home, so I guess the private sector is paying well. We were over there a couple of weeks ago so I could torment Sam about his frankly pathetic taste in basketball teams- hey, are you okay?” 

Danny's voice sounded a little far away, or maybe it was just the roaring sound in Josh's ears muffling the noise. “Donna and Sam are in Marina del Rey?” he repeated weakly. “Together?” 

“Um, yeah?” Danny answered tentatively. “Donna moved out of her place maybe a month ago now, when Carol came out to work for Hollis. They worked out some kind of agreement for subleasing-”

“That's not the part I care about, Danny!” Josh wasn't aware that he'd be yelling when he opened his mouth, but he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. “Sam and Donna are together... like that? How long? Why didn't anybody tell me?” 

“Well, you haven't exactly been the easiest guy to get a hold of, buddy,” Danny pointed out, unflappable as usual. “When's the last time you took a call from either of them?” Josh was silent. “My sources tell me they got together after the election, but they've been pretty much inseparable for the past year. Are you okay?” he asked again. 

Josh didn't bother to answer that ridiculous question, instead staring down at his plate of tacos as his mind churned. He'd seen them at the convention, noticed how close they were, how easy. He'd wondered for just a second, but Sam had a girlfriend then and Donna had tried to kiss him at the hotel, so he'd just passed it off as them being close friends. But he'd been Sam's close friend once, and Donna's, and look where that had almost gone. He'd wanted them to be happy, had pushed them away so they could be happy... but not like this. This was not what he'd meant. 

There were too many feelings pressing at his brain and swelling in his chest, till he could barely think or breathe, but he was still a politician and he could still tell a decent lie. “You know, the more I think about it, the more I think I should look over those notes tonight and you and I can talk about them tomorrow. I need to get back in the right headspace to talk about the administration, and the notes will jog my memory.” There, that wasn't bad at all, he decided. Voice a little tight, but back to normal volume. 

Danny wasn't fooled for a minute, obviously, but he let it go with an ease that surprised Josh a bit. “Sure, that'll work. I promised CJ I'd take a look at some of the souvenir shops and bring her back something incredibly tacky I know she'll appreciate.” 

“Maybe another live fish?” Josh managed, though he suspected his grin looked a little bit horrifying. 

“There's a continuing moratorium on live fish gifts since I surprised her with the fifty gallon aquarium at our new place,” Danny admitted, wrapping his tacos back up. “Apparently enough is enough.” He was nothing if not efficient, and in just a couple of minutes was heading for the door. “Give me a call if you have questions about the papers... or if you want to talk about anything else. I'll just leave the rest of the beers here.” 

Josh just nodded and Danny departed, leaving Josh alone in a condo that suddenly felt echoingly empty. He got up and started to pace, one end to the other, ignoring the fact that it was getting dark and he hadn't turned enough lights on. Sam and Donna, together. Living together. Kissing each other, sharing a bed. Unwanted images filled his mind, old memories and old fantasies crowding up against each other, but twisted in such a way as to set them forever out of his reach. Sick jealousy curled in the pit of his stomach, vying with the anger of betrayal, even as the quickly fading rational part of his brain reminded him once again that he'd wanted them to move on, he'd pushed them away and he had no right to feel any of this. The beer on the counter was tempting, just to wash the acid taste out of his mouth, but he'd already promised himself not to go that route again. Whatever he'd do, he'd do it sober. 

He paced until he exhausted himself, until that first flush of rage had faded into despair and then disbelief. Danny might be wrong. Maybe Donna was just staying with Sam for awhile because she was too good-hearted to let Carol go without a place to live. Maybe Sam's place had two or three bedrooms and they both needed a roommate. That was stupid, his rational brain reminded him, but he didn't care. It was a glimmer, at least, and he needed it. He would just call and ask, and Sam would tell him what he needed to know. 

Josh found Sam's number in California, arduously entered into his phone months ago, when he'd still been trying to figure out the electronic phonebook for himself. He dialed and let the phone ring. It rang four times, then five. Josh was expecting to be dumped to voice mail and was already trying to figure out what he could possibly say when the line picked up. “Sam Seaborn,” came Donna's pleasant answering-the-phone voice, though she sounded a little out of breath. 

“Funny, you don't sound like Sam Seaborn.” The banter was pure reflex, and Josh was grateful for it because his mind was suddenly a complete blank. Donna was answering Sam's phone. What had she been doing that left her out of breath? He didn't want to contemplate the possibilities, but there they were anyway. 

“Josh?” Donna sounded startled, which made sense after so long. He didn't respond, couldn't pull anything else, not even banter, out of the vortex that was his brain. “Josh, are you there?” 

“Yeah,” he finally managed, his voice tight. “Danny says you're living with Sam now. Is that true?” 

Silence on the other end of the line now. He could see her face in his mind, weighing her options. “Yes,” she finally said, her voice quiet, cautious. “I wanted to tell you myself, but-” 

“Don't.” He cut her off flat, heard her little gasp of indrawn breath. “Are you happy?” he asked curtly. 

“Josh, please. We need to talk about this-” 

“Are. You. Happy?” He stared into the middle distance, phone pressed painfully hard against his ear, and waited for her answer. 

She was quiet for a long moment. “Yes,” she said again. “We are happy. But-”

“Okay. Good.” His voice was a flat monotone; he barely recognized it himself. “That's all I wanted to know. Be happy, give my best to Sam. I love you.” He hung up the phone before he could register the small wounded noise she made on the other end of the line. Shit. He dropped the phone on the floor and put his head in his hands, ignoring it as it rang and rang.


	28. Then I See The Look In Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody, and welcome to Day 2 of the rest of our lives! As you may have noticed, I have suspended my original plan to take a break, based largely on the fact that writing is phenomenal escapism and so is reading, so hopefully this is good for all of us. We could all use a little time off from reality. In any case, here's the long-awaited Chapter 28, and we're back with Sam again. I hope you enjoy, and that you're all taking care of yourselves, and that you have many moments of peace and joy and laughter to balance out everything else.

It had actually been a pretty stress-free day at work for once, despite or perhaps because of the fact that Sam had forgotten his cell phone at home. If he could somehow figure out a way to forget his email at home as well, his productivity would probably skyrocket. At any rate, he was in a good mood when he went home, bearing a bucket of chicken and all the side dishes. Delivery food was great, but he was in the mood for something that couldn't possibly be eaten with chopsticks. Maybe they should go out some night this week, he mused, juggling food and keys at the front door. Donna didn't have any Friday classes, they could go out someplace nice, dinner and dancing maybe. It wasn't as though they both didn't have more than enough formalwear. 

“Hey, I'm home!” he called as he walked in, noting with some surprise that the lights weren't on in the condo. Donna had taken a half-day today, flexing time after working through the weekend, and her car was downstairs. “Donna?” He dropped the food off on the breakfast bar and wandered into the living room, wondering if she'd settled in for a rare afternoon nap. When he saw her curled up on the couch, he thought he was right, till he noticed her eyes were open and she was clutching his forgotten phone in both hands like a talisman. She'd been crying. 

Sam felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He sat down on the couch next to her and took her hands in his, easing the phone away from her in the process. She blinked at him as though only now becoming aware of his presence. “What's wrong, sweetheart?” he asked anxiously. It had to have been a very bad phone call to have earned this kind of response. His mind involuntarily began scrolling through a list of people who might be hurt or dead. 

“Josh called,” she told him, her voice still a little thick. “Danny told him about us.” 

“Oh, god.” Sam gathered her up in his arms, grateful when she allowed him to hold her. He couldn't even name half the things he was feeling at the moment: relief that nobody was dead or hurt, anger at Danny for his incautious words, a completely different anger at Josh for whatever he'd said to make Donna cry, an indefinable shame that Josh had found out this way, and underneath it a deep fear that this was somehow the beginning of the end. “What did he say?” 

Donna curled her body into his, pressing her face against his shoulder for comfort. “He wanted to know if it was true,” she murmured, low enough that he could barely hear her from inches away. “And I said it was. Then he wanted to know if we were happy. And I said yes, we are. Then he said...” Her voice hitched as the tears began creeping back in. “He said good, that was what he wanted to know, and give my best to you and that he loved me.” Her entire body shuddered a little. “And then he hung up before I could say anything. He won't answer his phone.” 

Sam leaned in almost automatically to kiss the crown of her head and stroke her hair comfortingly, but his thoughts were in chaos. “Shh, shh. It'll be all right,” he murmured in his very best politician voice, the one that Donna said could convince people of anything, regardless of what he actually thought. He and Donna had a tacit understanding about their great affection for one another, but neither of them had ever called it love. Sam hadn't declared his love for a woman since Lisa had given back his ring a decade ago, because words had meaning and none more so than those. He absolutely felt like he was in love with Donna, and the idea of having her around for a long time, maybe forever, was only getting more appealing with time, but he hadn't said anything out loud yet. Was he suddenly too late? 

“I'm worried about him,” Donna continued, oblivious to the direction of Sam's thoughts. “He sounded so strange on the phone. He sounded really... final. And he isn't answering his phone now.” Sam knew instantly what she was thinking because now he was thinking it too, of a very unmerry Christmas and a boarded-up window, and how things could've been even worse. 

He tilted her chin up, brushed a kiss over her lips. “Josh isn't going to do anything,” he promised. “That was a long time ago, and he was in a really different place. But I'll call Danny right now and find out what the hell he was thinking, then get him to check in on Josh just in case, okay? But it's going to be all right.” 

She nodded, her thumb brushing lightly over his fingers before she released his hands. “I'm going to go wash my face,” she told him, which was code for 'I'm going to go pull myself together.” She slipped into the bedroom as Sam picked up the phone, angrily scrolling through it for Danny's cell phone. It only had to ring twice. 

“Hey Sam.” Danny didn't sound surprised by his call. 

“You son of a bitch,” Sam began, keeping his voice down in deference to Donna. “What the hell do you think you were doing?” 

“We were talking and it came up in conversation. It just sort of-” 

“Bullshit,” Sam interrupted. “You may act like a fifty-year-old ex-surfer half the time, but a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative reporter with two decades experience doesn't let things like that just slip out. And if by some unfathomable twist of circumstance it had, it would've been you on the phone to tell us about it, rather than Josh calling Donna to demand answers when I wasn't even here!” 

He could hear Danny sigh on the other end of the line. “Is she okay?” 

“It's a little late to be wondering that, isn't it? Just tell me why,” Sam snapped. “I thought you were our friend.” 

“I am your friend,” Danny snapped right back, “but I'm his friend too, and when there's an anvil hanging above somebody on a rapidly fraying rope, sometimes you have to cut the rope before it falls on his head! You and Donna aren't exactly being subtle about your relationship and more power to you, but it's a matter of time before somebody uses it against him. Plenty of people in Washington know that Donna's his Achilles' heel, and I know you're just as much of one, and how do you think he'd have reacted if Mary Marsh dropped it on his head during Capitol Beat? Is that something you'd like to see on live television? Is that how you'd prefer he found out? Because that's the way it was going to happen.” 

Sam was silent for a minute, still breathing hard as his anger collapsed under the weight of the truth. “You could've given us a heads-up.” 

“I didn't know until I was there whether I was going to have the guts to do it,” Danny admitted. He sounded tired. “It wasn't exactly my idea of a fun time.” 

“How did he take it?” Sam couldn't help but ask. 

“About how you'd expect, maybe a little more reserved,” Danny reported. “Mostly disbelief, then straight to pissed off that nobody had told him. As though he's been waiting by his phone all these months and nobody called. He pawned me off with some excuse so that he could have some alone time, I'm supposed to go back over there tomorrow morning.”

“You need to go back over there tonight.” Sam insisted. “Make an excuse, take him a pie, whatever.” 

“Why?” Danny asked. “You don't think it's better for him to have some time to assimilate all this? I'm not really looking to get punched here.” 

“Because you made the mess, now you get to make sure it doesn't get any worse,” Sam snapped, his voice quiet. “Donna doesn't know if she should be more upset about Josh being mad at her or terrified that he might do something she can't stop. You weren't in the loop back then, but I know you got wind of what happened after Rosslyn. He hasn't got anybody there to hold his hand tonight, so you're it. Get your ass over there.” 

Danny was silent for a few seconds. “Yeah, okay. I'll head over there and send you a text message. He'll let me in if I threaten to call his mom.” 

“Fine, whatever you have to do.” Sam hesitated for a minute. “Danny, that thing you said about his Achilles' heel...” 

“I've known Josh even longer than you have,” Danny reminded him, his voice a little gentler. “We went to college together. I was starting out on the Hill the same time you guys were, and I remember what he was like when he met you. I remember what you were like when you met him. And, as you recently accused me of, I'm a pretty good investigative reporter.” 

“Danny-” Sam's voice was a little strangled. 

“It's not obvious,” Danny assured him, “not really. And I'm not telling anybody. But that doesn't mean somebody won't eventually guess, or that hearing about you and Donna wouldn't have thrown him twice as hard. Give it some time, sure, but you've got to get this sorted out with him.” 

“I don't know if you've noticed, but he's not really interested in talking to us right now.” 

“Then you have to be more pushy,” Danny replied simply. “I'm going now, take care of Donna, okay?” 

“Yeah, okay.” Sam hung up and went to find Donna, who was in the master bathroom carefully removing her ruined makeup. He came up behind her and put his hands lightly on her waist, watching her in the mirror. “Danny's going to go check up on him, just to make sure, but we both think he's going to be all right.” 

She nodded fractionally, pressing a cold washcloth against her swollen eyes. “That's good to hear. Are you okay?” 

“I feel like I should be the one asking you that question,” he parried. 

“I'm okay,” she told him. “The call really threw me for a little bit. I didn't want him to find out like that. I can't believe Danny told him.” 

Sam sighed. “Danny thought he was defusing a bomb. He figured if he told Josh now, it was better than him finding out on Capitol Beat or something like that.” 

“Well that was pretty goddamned presumptuous of him,” Donna decided with a scowl. 

“Yeah, but maybe he wasn't entirely wrong. He didn't take the- Josh's thing into account, but it would've been worse for him to be blindsided in public. And Danny's going to make sure things are all right over there.” 

She sighed and melted back against him, pressing her back against his chest. “I'm glad. It's just... eight months since I've even seen him or spoken to him, and this is what he does? I can understand him being mad, I expected that. But telling me he loves me and then hanging up? Who does that?” 

Sam tensed slightly despite his best efforts; from the way she looked at him in the mirror, she could feel it too. “It actually sounds a lot like something Josh would do,” he managed with a half-smile. 

Donna acknowledged that with a tip of her head, then took him by the hand and led him back into the bedroom. “He was trying to call you, you know,” she pointed out, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “He got me by accident.” She was trying to make him feel better, he realized, and misinterpreting the source of his unease. 

Sitting down next to her, Sam ran a hand over her hair and down her back. He loved Donna's hair, soft and loose and long, or pinned up neatly to expose her lovely neck and make him dream of pulling out the bobby pins and getting her all rumpled and tousled. Tonight, though, it was just comforting. “It doesn't bother me that he talked to you and not me” he told her honestly. “I hate to see you so upset about it.” He paused, hesitating. “What do you want to do about it?” 

“I think we need to figure out a way to sit him down and talk with him in a way that doesn't allow him to hang up the phone,” she began, then focused in on him again. She cocked her head. “But that's not what you're talking about.” 

Sam's voice felt strange even as came from his throat, tight and strained as though the words didn't want to leave his mouth. “I know you love him,” he managed, “and that you have for a long time.” 

Donna's face cleared as she took in and understood his words, then her brow immediately furrowed into annoyance. “Is that what you're on about?” she demanded. 

“What?” he asked. 

She swung a leg over his hip and straddled his knees so she could look him right in the face with her hands on his shoulders. It would've been incredibly distracting had she not been about to yell at him. “Sam Seaborn, do you really think the past four months, or the entire past year, really, have been about me using you as some kind of substitute until Josh was available?” she demanded.

“No!” he insisted reflexively, then had to qualify it. “Not really, not necessarily consciously...” That was the wrong thing to say, he realized immediately. “But you can't help the feelings that you have for people, god knows, and if you wind up being in a position where you feel torn or like you can't-” 

“Sam, just stop, really.” Her face softened as she interrupted him, cupping his face in her hands. “I love you.” She leaned in and kissed him lightly, though he was too stunned to respond. “I love you because you're sweet, and kind, and sometimes a little dumb.” Another kiss, and he was at least able to move his arms again, bringing them up and wrapping them around her. “I love you,” she repeated, “and it has nothing to do with anything I feel or have felt or might have felt about anybody else, even Josh. You really think I'd give you up, give all this up, because he finally gives me a hint he might be interested?” 

“I'm a very insecure man?” he offered, with what he was sure was a fatuous grin. “An insecure man in love with a woman who outclasses him by every measure?” 

She laughed and pushed him backwards onto the bed, scooting forward to straddle his thighs. “Well, knock it the hell off, right now,” she ordered. “I'm not leaving you. I'm worried about him, and I care about him, and I think that you and I together need to figure out a plan about how we can help him, but I'm with you, right?” There was just a trace of insecurity in her own eyes at that last bit. 

“Absolutely,” he promised, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck and pulling her down till their faces were inches apart. “We'll figure it all out together.” He sealed the promise with a searing kiss. After that, and the emotions of the day, and hearing her say she was in love with him, making love was the easiest and most intuitive thing in the world. Later, though, as she dozed with her head on his chest and he idly stroked her hair, he wondered how in the world they were going to deal with Josh without everything ending in tears again.


	29. Holding on Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Today is Day 50 of the 42-Day Fic-a-Day-Till-(mumble), and I am marking that auspicious occasion with another chapter of Such A Winter's Day. I want to let you all know that from this point out I do not guarantee a fic every day, and I don't want you to worry if a day or two should pass between fics. The holidays are coming and some people in my family are going to be making incredibly unreasonable demands like that I should maybe do things besides writing at my computer all day long. I'm still taking prompts, and thank you to everyone who has made suggestions so far! I have a list of them, and some of them are pretty exciting, so stay tuned! Hope you enjoy today's chapter, it's Donna!

The charity ball sponsored by the California Democratic Party ran until well after midnight, leaving Donna feeling more pumpkin than person by the time they finally got home in the wee hours of the April morning. Sam went straight to the bedroom and began undressing, removing tie and shoes and cufflinks, then getting started on the tux itself. “Ties and tuxedo shirts are nothing but torture devices designed to cut off blood flow to the brain,” he opined, meeting Donna's eyes in the mirror as she came in behind him. “Wearing them is both a sign of impaired judgment and a cause of it.” 

“I will gladly take the tie and tux if it meant you'd wear the pantyhose and heels,” she told him, sinking down on the edge of the bed to toe off her sparkling and extremely painful shoes. “Not to mention all the foundation garments, the makeup, the dress you have to skip lunch for a week to even wear...” 

He derailed her train of thought by draping his jacket over her shoulders, then standing back to admire his work. “You'd look good in a tux,” he decided. “It'd be unusual, but you'd make it work. Probably a lot better than me in hose and heels.” He grinned at her.

“You're pretty enough, but you'd fall down the first flight of stairs you came to.” She smiled back, trying to shake the irritable mood that had followed her home from the fundraiser. “And you really do wear a tux very well. How did the conversation with the congressman go?” 

“It was good, I'm going to drop by his office tomorrow and talk with him more about the immigration bill. He mentioned specifically that he's been looking for the right person to back in the Senate race, so it sounds like all that subtle positioning you've been doing is taking hold.” Sam pulled his shirt off and laid it over the rack to send to the dry cleaner. “How did your talks go?” 

“Not as well,” Donna admitted, concentrating on the fiddly clasp on her watchband. “The fundraising part is just fine, we're on track or even slightly ahead with getting the party organizations on board, but the campaign itself... People are asking when you're going to name your campaign manager.” 

In the corner of her eye, she could see him stop undressing. “You're managing my campaign,” he reminded her with the air of someone being forced to state something so obvious that merely being asked about it is confusing. 

“I'm advising your campaign,” she corrected him, still fiddling with the watch. She must have bumped it on something, it wasn't closing and opening quite the way she wanted it to. “I'm helping plan strategy for your campaign, and I'm fundraising for your campaign. But I'm not your campaign manager.” 

He came over and sat down next to her, studying the watch as well. “All those things sound suspiciously like campaign manager jobs.” 

She shrugged. “I can't really run your campaign, you know that. Even if we weren't living together, I have no resume-ready campaign experience, and the most I ever actually did on a state-level campaign was stuff envelopes in Madison for my congressman.” 

“You took a meeting for me with the communist party during my Congressional run,” Sam reminded her jokingly, but subsided quickly when she gave him a look to let him know how unfunny he was. “You're already doing an amazing job on the campaign and we're still eighteen months out,” he tried again. “People are going to see that.” 

“Politics is perception,” she reminded him with a sigh. “It's a battle we could fight if we wanted to, but it would eat up our time and effort when we need to be focusing on putting you in the Senate.” She stood long enough to slide down her nylons and begin rolling them off her legs. “We have to start bringing other people on board anyway, it's not like there isn't going to be enough work to do.” Lifting her hair in silent request, she waited while he carefully unzipped the back of her long blue gown, then stepped out of it. “We could just hire on a face for the campaign and I would do the work behind the scenes,” she added, “but it's better if we can find somebody good, somebody with experience who's actually going to be an asset. My ego can handle it.” 

She felt his arms go around her waist and turned to meet his eyes. The fact that Sam looked at least as frustrated and pissed about this as she felt was at least somewhat gratifying. The fact that he seemed to be working up a lecture about it was substantially less so. “Don't you ever get frustrated about the amount of time we spend being absolutely nowhere because politics is perception?” he demanded. “How many compromises are we supposed to make without even trying? I can't make you my campaign manager because I also happen to be in love with you and that's okay?” 

Donna drew back from him and gave him a level, flat look. “Don't even get started with me, Sam, I mean it. Perception politics have hurt you and I know that, but they've helped you at least as much. They're going to help put you in the Senate if you listen to me about this. You can get pissed at me for telling you that, or you can get pissed on my behalf that people automatically look at me and think I slept my way into every political job I've had, and then we can work together on this and maybe someday fix things.” 

It was hard to parse the look on Sam's face, half-apologetic, half-defiant. “You know I'm mad as hell on your behalf, Donna! Nobody who's talked with you for five minutes should be able to deny you're perfect for the job. But maybe that's a fight it's time for us to have! I'm not afraid of fighting for something that's right!” 

“It's not the fight I want to have,” she insisted, quietly certain. “I love you, and that part's not open for debate or public examination. But if we want to draw a line and stand on it regarding our personal life, it means we don't get to look for the fight on it. We'll hire somebody this time, you'll win, I'll get the line item for my resume, and next time I'll run you myself. And if anybody tries to say anything then, we'll rip them to shreds.” ''

He drew her in again, and this time she let him, closing her eyes as he rested his forehead against hers and sighed. “Why did we ever get into politics in the first place?” he asked rhetorically. 

She grinned and ran her fingertips along his jawline. “Beats working at Dennys?” 

“There is that,” he allowed. “What's our timetable on this manager thing?” 

“We've got a little time yet as long as I tell people we're vetting candidates,” Donna told him. “By the end of summer, people are going to be looking for signs that you're really serious. A big hiring push then, including a manger, would be a really good sign.” She fitted her body more comfortably against his, not minding that by now she was down to her underclothes. “Until that point, I still get to do whatever I want with you.” 

“It does sound more appealing when you put it that way,” Sam agreed with a quick gulp. He ran his fingers under the lacy strap of her bra, drawing an arch look from her. “You know I'm really just putty in your hands.” She laughed as he drew her back towards the bed, his hands warm against her bare skin. “So any pointers you want to give me,” he paused long enough to kiss her, “on winning over the constituency- whoa!” He overbalanced when she pushed him down to the mattress, grabbing her waist and taking her with him, “would be very appreciated.” 

“Just keep talking,” she encouraged, leering down at him from where she was propped on his chest. “I'll help with the rest.” 

 

Two days later, Donna was sorting the mail when she picked up a heavy ivory-colored envelope postmarked from New Hampshire. The return label had no name, but the Manchester address was very suggestive. She ripped open the envelope and pulled out the contents, a lace-edged invitation that looked to have a letter inside, an RSVP card, and a return envelope with a stamp. She quickly opened the invitation and squealed aloud. 

Within seconds, Sam was in the doorway from the living room, looking at her with startled curiosity as she scanned the letter. “Did we win the lottery?” 

“Charlie and Zoey are getting married!” Donna announced, waving the card at him and dabbing at her eyes. “In June, in New Hampshire!” 

Sam took the card, grinning as he read over the fancy embossed text. “God, the President must be over the moon. I can't believe we didn't hear about this sooner.” 

“Well you saw how they were at the convention, didn't you?” Donna pointed out with a laugh. “This was just a matter of time. It might be rough with Charlie starting law school, but I guess they didn't want to wait any longer.” She held up the letter. “They're just going to be doing a small thing, family and friends, no press, no fuss. If we can make it out a few days early, President Bartlet would love to have time to visit with us 'outside the confines of the wedding bacchanalia,' as he puts it.” She looked again at the front of the envelope. “This is addressed to both of us,” she recalled belatedly. “I guess the cat's really out of the bag.” 

“We haven't been keeping anything a secret,” Sam pointed out, laughing at her momentary dismay. “You're not ashamed of me, are you?” he teased. 

She glared at him. “Of course not. It just feels... you know how I got all worked up at Christmastime because I wanted to tell my parents in person that you and I were seeing each other?” 

“Oh, vaguely,” he replied, his arch tone conveying his complete recollection of the nutty she'd thrown the day before leaving for Wisconsin. 

“It just feels a little bit like I should've told the President and Mrs. Bartlet in person too,” Donna told him awkwardly. “Which is strange, I know. But maybe at least a phone call or something? I feel remiss.” 

“You're afraid of getting another lecture, aren't you.” Sam laughed again and kissed her temple, taking the letter so he could read it too. “How about I promise to take the heat?” 

“A likely story,” she muttered. “Nobody but Josh is faster than you at disappearing when the President is in lecture mode.” She pursed her lips momentarily at the mention of Josh, a subject they'd both been dancing around for more than a month now. Danny had assured them that he was all right, even extending his trip by a day to be sure, but there had been no further calls and no other contact. Donna kept calling Hannah once every week or ten days to check in, but nothing had really changed. They were, it seemed, at an impasse. 

Sam picked up on her change in mood. “I'm sure he'll be there too,” he pointed out. “He's like a big brother to both of them. He absolutely won't miss this.” 

Donna nodded agreement, worrying the edges of the letter with her fingers. “We'll have to find a time to talk to him then.” She wasn't sure if she was more happy about the idea of seeing Josh again, or afraid what might happen when they did.


	30. The Best of All The Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Start Of Thanksgiving Week to all you American readers, and to everybody else just in a general sense. I'm going to be traveling a great deal this week (think 30 hours in the car) so don't be expecting too much out of me. This chapter is not as long as I'd hoped, either in absolutely length or in the amount of ground I was able to cover, but I figured a short chapter was better than no chapter at all! Think of it as an appetizer before the next course, which will probably be sometime next week after I'm home again. Hope you enjoy!

Sam and Donna arrived in New Hampshire on the Wednesday before the wedding, which was set for Saturday evening. Like every flight to the East Coast, it was long and made even longer by the trip across four time zones, but Donna forgot her weariness when she saw their welcoming committee. “Zoey, Charlie!” She abandoned her carry-on bag to run forward and give Zoey an enthusiastic hug. “I'm so excited for you!” 

Zoey hugged her back with equal fervor. “It's so good to see you! I can't believe you all decided to live so far away! Don't you get how much that sucks? My dad has been saving up lecture material for you guys for weeks, so get ready for it. Thank god he's going to be at the bachelor party and not at mine,” she confided, grinning.

Sam gave Charlie a manly handshake and back-clap with his congratulations, and Donna could see him deliberately trying not to use his politician persona while he did it. Being genuine was important to Sam, and sometimes it got difficult after enough time spent around other politicos. She kissed Charlie's cheek as Sam went to hug Zoey. “You look like a happy man,” she teased gently. “I guess after the White House, law school just isn't going to be very scary.” 

“I already know how to get by on no sleep,” he pointed out, enfolding her in a hug. “Anyway, half the people I know are lawyers, I figure if I get in trouble, I'll just call Sam or Josh.” A quick, strained expression crossed his face as he looked at her, but Donna made sure her own face remained serene. Charlie relaxed. “Even if law's only a side job, they probably know a little bit.” 

“Hey, I heard that,” Sam protested with a laugh. “I work fifty-five hours a week on that side job, how much more do you want from me?” 

“Fifty-five hours a week?” Charlie asked, obviously vastly unimpressed. It made Donna laugh, remembering all the nights in the White House they'd never gone home at all. “When do you go full-time?”

“I'm going to remind you of those words when you're a first-year associate,” Sam warned Charlie with a grin. 

“Okay, just make sure it doesn't distract you from your packed schedule of not-working,” Charlie teased back. 

“That's enough from both of you,” Zoey decreed, linking her arm through Donna's. “Let's get your luggage and get back to the farm. Leo's already there, and CJ and Danny are getting in tonight. Toby can't get here till Friday morning and Margaret's driving in then with her little boy, but Josh said he'd be in first thing tomorrow. The whole campaign gang will be back together!” she said cheerfully, then added hastily, “Besides Mandy.” 

Donna thought it would probably be impolite to thank God for that out loud. “I can't wait to see everybody again! So what are you doing for the bachelorette party?” 

Zoey leaned in close, walking faster to take them away from the men.“Boston, tomorrow night. There's this burlesque club that has male and female acts, and I actually managed to get it vetted by the Secret Service, which was a minor miracle, let me tell you.” She rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “I didn't really want a bar or club, you know... anyway this seemed like fun.” Most Presidential children gave up their Secret Service protection after their parent left office, but in this particular case, it had been deemed prudent to keep a small detail on a girl whose life had been physically threatened twice already. 

“It sounds great,” Donna assured her with a grin. “Just don't tell Sam, okay? You'll get me in trouble!” 

That got a laugh from Zoey. “Didn't he date a hooker?” 

“Yes, but we don't talk about that,” Donna replied, tongue-in-cheek. “Seriously, he won't care, but he might want to come with. A burlesque sounds a lot more fun than a cigar bar or whatever the men will be doing.” 

“You have no idea.” Zoey snickered. “My dad guilted Charlie into making him part of the festivities, so they're not even going to a bar. You think my Secret Service is bad, his is still ten times worse. They're having a caterer bring food to the farm and hunkering down in the den to 'do manly things,' which I think probably means watch sports and heckle Charlie.'” 

“Oh no,” Donna laughed. “Please tell me you're making it up to him on the honeymoon.” 

“I let him pick and everything,” Zoey assured her, obviously proud of herself. “We just had to stay in the country, for obvious reasons. Two weeks in Hawaii, first on the Big Island, than on Kauai. Very far from reporters and from my parents.” 

“That sounds amazing,” Donna said, just a little wistfully. “I've always wanted to visit, but for some reason presidential campaigns don't seem to go there.” 

“Yeah, campaigning would be a lot more fun if Hawaii had twenty electoral votes and a split electorate,” Zoey observed sagely. “I know I've seen more of Ohio than I ever wanted or needed.” 

“Nature of the game,” Donna sighed as they approached the baggage carousels. “Are your sisters coming?” 

“Yeah, they're my bridesmaids, so I guilted them into it,” Zoey said with unabashed little-sister glee. “I absolutely cannot wait to see Ellie get her first look at a male stripper. Doctor or no, I'm like a thousand percent sure she's going to turn bright red and refuse to look at anybody for the rest of the night. I want to buy her a lap dance.” 

“You are a terrible person, Zoey Patricia Bartlet,” Donna scolded her with a laugh, just as the men caught up. 

“That's true,” Charlie agreed. “What are we talking about?” Zoey squawked indignantly and slugged him in the arm, and they went to collect the luggage. 

 

Awasiwi Odanack, the Manchester farm belonging to the Bartlet family, was lovely in summer, not too hot and brimming with greenery. Donna had been to the farm in summertime before, loved the drone of insects and the smell of mown hay that reminded her of her grandparents' house, but now the farm was dressing up for a wedding and it was prettier than ever. The President was taking an afternoon rest when they arrived, so she and Sam were volunteered into helping string fairy lights through the trees along the drive. Donna could climb trees, so she did most of the hard work, while Sam stood underneath and yelled encouragement while holding the extension cords. This rapidly disintegrated into her taunting him for never learning to shinny up a tree trunk, to him trying to prove he could pull himself up on the low branches anyway, to her giggling and dropping twirly green maple seeds on his head from above as he futilely attempted to catch her. 

“I was informed,” came a very familiar voice that had Sam and Donna stopping in their tracks, “that two of my most loyal former staffers had traveled a great distance to comfort me on the eve of my youngest daughter's marriage,” Jed Bartlet was sitting in a little electric golf cart, watching their arboreal battle like a stern school principal. “And what do I find instead, but a couple of hooligans cavorting in my maple trees?” 

Donna, still perched in the lowest branch of a tree, turned her biggest and most innocent smile on the President even as she dropped her last handful of helicopter seeds on Sam's head. “Sorry, sir, I was provoked,” she said cheerfully. “But we've strung all these lights for you!” 

Sam sputtered and wiped bits of leaf out of his face, several twirly seeds still stuck in his hair. “You're looking very well, Mr. President,” he offered. “And any hooliganism was strictly on Donna's part, I have to say.” Donna glared at him and nudged his shoulder with her foot to remind him whose team he was supposed to be on. He gave her a glance that suggested she was on her own after dropping fifty maple helicopters on him; she glared back that he would be hearing more about this later. 

Their former boss and world leader watched this byplay with one eyebrow raised, and Donna thought she saw a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And this is California's next senator and his top advisor,” he sighed. “I don't know what the world is coming to. In any case, I've been sent to fetch you in for dinner, so you'd better come along and see what healthful torture my wife is inflicting upon us tonight. Retirement is not agreeing with Abigail,” he confided. “She's made me her pet project to compensate.” 

“I'm sure she's taking very good care of you, Mr. President,” Donna placated and nudged Sam again, this time to warn him before pushing off the branch and dropping into his arms. He caught her around the waist with an oof, just as she'd planned, then gave her a silly-looking smile for his accomplishment. They both turned and walked towards the golf cart, leaving the cords behind for later. 

“Yeah, Kathy Bates could take lessons,” Bartlet muttered, making Sam snort laughter. “And I know the two of your have been away from Washington for quite some time now and this may have escaped your attention, but there's a new president now. My wife has reclaimed the title of Dr. Bartlet out from under me as well, so it's probably more fitting that you both just call me Jed now.” 

Donna and Sam exchanged a look as they climbed into the cart, Sam in front, Donna behind. “Maybe we'll work our way up to that, sir,” Sam offered. Jed laughed at that as he wheeled around and headed for the house. 

Dinner was lively, with Jed and Leo taking it in turns to provide Charlie with less-than-helpful marital advice while Zoey yelled at both of them and everyone else laughed. CJ and Danny showed up by the end of the meal, jetlagged but in good spirits. Danny had his laptop and managed to coax several stories for his book from the Bartlets and the former senior staffers. Donna was content to listen for the most part, curled up on the loveseat with her bare feet nudging Sam's thigh. Every so often he'd pat her knee or stroke her calf, but both of them were more comfortable keeping their interactions less demonstrative around all their friends. It wasn't like they were trying to fool anybody, they were sharing a room after all, but both of them were used to circumspection by now.

The president went to bed around ten, after several pointed glances and throat-clearings from his wife, and that was a signal to everyone else as well. Zoey and Charlie were both in the main house, in distinctly separate rooms on either side of the master bedroom, but the others had rooms in the guesthouse, just a stone's throw away. The moment she settled into bed, the entire day seemed to catch up with Donna all at once. Despite her trepidation about what the next day might bring, she fell asleep almost instantly and slept well.


	31. And You're Never Coming Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again, everybody! Here's the chapter I promised before Thanksgiving, now that I'm safely back home and theoretically back to my routine. Of course today I got a new foster cat and a new computer to eat up a few hours of time each, plus I had the lovely distraction of some very nice comments on yesterday's fic and its predecessor chapter from Tumblr. All of which is just to say, that's why you're getting this chapter so late, but late is better than never, and I hope you all enjoy it! :D Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!

Josh's first impulse had been to stay the hell out of Manchester that summer. His Florida exile had been working well for him, for the most part. He had a pretty nice place to live, he was close to his mother and could feel like a good son by going over and doing repair work (or calling a repairman, which was usually the case). He had work that, while not particularly fulfilling, paid the bills and structured his days, and he had peaceful solitude the rest of the time. Yes, life had gone on without him in the outside world, but he didn't have to pay attention to anything but Beltway politics and hurricane season down in Florida. If he'd just gotten an invitation to the wedding he'd probably have sent his regrets, despite how close he'd once been to the people involved. 

Looking back, he realized that Charlie and Zoey must've known that, neatly outflanking him at every turn. First had been the pre-proposal email, just a few lines from Charlie about how he was finally going to pop the question and to wish him luck. Josh could hardly not respond to news like that with a return email, which had just opened the door. Zoey had been next, calling him on the phone, and Josh had to answer because one did not ignore a phone call from a Bartlet in his world, and also she would've just kept calling. She'd squealed in his ear over how she was getting married and it was going to be great and she wanted him to come so everybody could be together on her happy day. Josh had managed to get in a few noncommittal grunts here and there, but his participation had already been assumed. Next was Charlie again, asking Josh to stand up with him as his best man. “You introduced us,” he'd pointed out. “You're like a brother to Zoey, and to me, too. I want you there with me.” This plainspoken display of emotion of course had to be buried by both of them as quickly as possible, so Josh had cleared his throat and agreed just so they could go back to safely discussing sports. But it was no use, he was already trapped. Josh decided that if those two ever chose to go into politics, he pitied their opponents. 

Being the best man turned out to be an easy job on paper, especially after the bachelor party was confined to the Manchester farmhouse for security reasons. All Josh had to do was round up food, liquor, and a tasteful array of non-liquor drinks for Leo and to keep Charlie from being drunk at his own wedding. Jed Bartlet's brand-new big-screen television got something like a thousand channels, so that took care of the entertainment. Abbey Bartlet recommended a catering company to provide food with very little nutritional value, and that was the party taken care of. The toast was the harder part, and ordinarily he'd have dumped it on Sam to come up with something good, but this time he called Toby instead. Toby heckled him mercilessly, but finally helped him hammer out enough of a speech that he wouldn't embarrass himself at the reception. That just left the hardest part, actually attending. 

The wedding wasn't until Saturday, but Zoey, in an obvious fit of sadism, had set the parties for Thursday and the rehearsal dinner for Friday, so Josh would have to be there all three days. He could get a hotel room in town if he needed to, he reminded himself even as he boarded the plane that would fly him north. But he wouldn't unless there was no other choice. This was Zoey and Charlie's big happy week, he wasn't going to ruin it because he... because. In any case, he decided to rent a car and drive himself to the farm, for convenience and to allow for a tactical retreat if necessary. It meant nobody had to pick him up at the airport, and nobody was inconvenienced when he dawdled in the city for an hour before beginning the drive. 

New Hampshire in a good summer was a riot of green, green grass, green trees, green fields. Josh liked Florida all right, but driving down the country roads gave him a powerful pang of homesickness for Connecticut and the New England he'd grown up in. He stopped at the Secret Service booth on the edge of the farm, showed his ID and was waved in to drive the rest of the long narrow lane up to the sprawling farmhouse. As he pulled up, he saw Danny and CJ in the front yard, hanging white buntings from the porch rail with neither zeal nor skill, but with a sort of dogged determination that had loops and swags of the stuff draped everywhere. Josh rather hoped that a professional something-or-other would eventually come along to fix it before the ceremony. CJ spotted him from the porch and waved, abandoning her post and letting a few yards of white tulle fall onto Danny and the bushes. 

Josh climbed out of the car and stretched his back, then walked up to the porch. This greeting wasn't so bad, he was actually looking forward to this. CJ waited for him at the top of the stairs, grinning down at him as he approached. “The prodigal pundit returns,” she drawled. “Whatever happened to the guy with the secret plan to fight inflation?” 

“I'm still the same,” Josh assured her, “you just don't have to freak out every time I say something awful anymore.” 

She laughed and descended to the bottom step before sweeping him into a hug. “God, I missed you, you idiot. You look great, but don't stay away so long next time, okay?” 

Between her wedge heels, the step, and the fact that she was naturally a couple inches taller than him, Josh briefly had a flashback to being twelve years old and hugged by his aunties, but that wasn't so bad. He did have his nose all but buried in her cleavage, which was awkward especially with Danny right there, but it did let him catch sight of a distinctive piece of jewelry under the collar of her shirt. Pulling back from the embrace, he hooked a finger under the slender gold chain around her neck and tugged loose a fairly impressive platinum and emerald engagement ring. “Claudia Jean,” he scolded teasingly, “do you have something you want to share with the class?” 

She blushed and snatched the ring away from him, giving him a light thwap upside the head for his troubles. Danny laughed as he walked over and gave Josh a one-armed hug. “Come on, Lyman, can't you wait to get fresh with my fiance until I'm at least out of sight? What kind of manners did they teach you at Harvard anyway?” 

“This doofus waited until night before last to propose,” CJ explained, starting to grin as she stepped down to the ground with Danny. “This is Charlie and Zoey's weekend, so we're waiting to tell people about it.” 

“Yeah, I figure on yelling it out as soon as the limo pulls away from the reception,” Danny told him cheerfully. “I spent a long time picking that ring out, and she's not even wearing it on her finger! It's a pretty hard world for a romantic softy, I tell you.” 

Josh gave Danny a supportive punch in the arm. “Get used to it,” he advised the reporter. “She's a cruel and evil woman, and she will keep you living in fear for the rest of your life.” 

“Yeah, that's what I like best about her.” Danny grinned and looped an arm around CJ's waist. CJ looked like she was torn between a goofy romantic expression for Danny and a glare for Josh. Josh figured it was probably time to make a strategic retreat. Leaving his suitcase in the car for the moment, he headed into the house and found his way to the kitchen, which smelled suspiciously of chili. 

Sure enough, he entered the kitchen to find Jed Bartlet and Leo McGarry sitting at the breakfast table and drinking lemonade while keeping an eye on the stove. Both men looked over when Josh came in, and the scrutiny was enough to make him hesitate just a little bit. “So, chili for lunch?” he asked lamely. “I don't suppose you've got any oregano around here?” 

Jed laughed as he rose, coming around his chair to clasp Josh in a one-armed hug around the shoulders. The former president was moving well today, though Josh noticed the cane leaning against the wall. “Hey Leo, look who finally decided to show up! Did Florida thin out your blood till you couldn't take a New Hampshire summer anymore?” 

“No sir,” Josh replied innocently, “I asked in town for directions to Watusi Overshack and it took me two days to find my way back here. You need some signs or something.” 

“Six months I'm out of office and the respect is gone,” Jed grumbled, shaking his head. “I used to be somebody, you know,” he told Leo. 

“Yes, and you spent eight years wanting somebody besides Abbey to treat you like a normal human being,” Leo pointed out with a wide grin, rising from his chair as well. Somewhat to Josh's surprise, Leo gave him a real, two-armed hug, something he couldn't recall getting from Leo since his twenty-first birthday. “Nice to see you, kid,” Leo told him. “How you feeling?” 

“Pretty good,” Josh answered carefully but truthfully. “I needed the time off more than I realized.” 

“You look a hell of a lot better than you did,” Leo observed. “We were starting to get worried about you.” His face conveyed all the worries he'd never speak aloud. 

“I'm good, really,” Josh promised. 

Jed and Leo exchanged a look. “Have you seen everybody yet?” Leo asked casually. 

“I saw CJ and Danny doing unspeakable things to the front porch,” Josh reported. “Winning a Pulitzer or running the White House apparently doesn't mean you can hang a bunting. It looks like they're staging The Haunting of Hill House out there.” 

Jed looked only mildly concerned. “Abbey will straighten things out when she gets home. She took Zoey and Charlie in for their last pre-cana session in town. Premarital counseling,” he explained to the baffled Josh. 

Josh raised his eyebrows. “Anything we should be worried about?” 

“No, no,” Jed waved a hand. “It's all formalities at this point. We had to jump through all the hoops with the bishop because Charlie's a Methodist, but at the end of the day a baptism is a baptism. The Catholics and the Methodists have more in common than either might think, really, since both get their start-” 

“That's great, sir,” Josh cut in hastily, “but I should probably move my car before they come back, and maybe take my luggage in?” 

“Yes, I suppose,” Jed allowed, deflating a little from his lecture posture. “You'll be in the guest house with the others, just take any room that's not already full of luggage. You can pull your car around there. Just get back here in time for lunch!” 

“Yes sir, thank you Mr. President,” Josh replied, half-habit and half-teasing as he ducked out of the room and headed back to the front. So far, so good. CJ and Danny had abandoned their decorative pursuits, leaving Josh to shove aside a length of tulle dangling from the downspout as he walked down the front stairs. He carefully maneuvered the rental car around the back of the house, parking it with the small fleet already there and not bothering to lock it. Pulling his suitcase from the trunk, he headed towards the guesthouse, which looked lovely and bunting-free in the late morning sun. As he walked, he happened to glance over towards the gazebo, perhaps at a slight motion or the glint of gold hair in the sunlight. Either way, he looked over and saw Sam and Donna sharing a bench in the gazebo. 

They weren't doing anything risque, or doing much of anything, really. Sam had a manila folder in his hands and was leafing through the contents, leaning back against the bench with his legs spread comfortably. Donna took up the rest of the bench, reclining on it lengthwise with her head pillowed on Sam's leg while she read what looked like a textbook. It was nothing special, nothing intimate, but the simple comfort of the scene hit Josh like a fist to the gut. Here were two people with a relationship they didn't suppress, didn't hide, didn't try and force out of existence by sheer willpower, and in return they just got to be with each other, and it was so simple, and so incredibly unfair. 

He must've made some noise or movement or something, because Donna's head turned in his direction and their eyes suddenly met. She gave Sam a nudge with her elbow and then they were both looking at him with their impossibly blue eyes, thirty feet and a world apart from him. Donna rolled gracefully to her feet, giving Sam's fingers a quick squeeze before she walked towards Josh. She was dressed for relaxing and still shockingly beautiful in blue jean shorts and an old Rock the Vote t-shirt. Sam followed a few steps behind her, just as beautiful despite being constitutionally unable to dress down any further than a polo shirt, chinos and boat shoes. “Hi Josh,” she said tentatively, stopping maybe five feet from him, comfortable conversation distance but so much further than she'd once stood. 

“Hi Donna,” he replied inanely through a throat gone suddenly dry. He wished he'd stayed in the kitchen long enough to have some lemonade, or maybe for the entire weekend. “Hey Sam.” Sam nodded back. 

There was silence for a minute, crushing and uncomfortable. “You look a lot better,” she finally said. “We've been worried about you.” 

Josh looked into Donna's eyes again and let himself really see her this time, see the uncertainty and the pain she was feeling from this awkward reunion. He knew he'd treated her badly last time they'd met, knew he'd been pretty terrible to both of them, really. And what was the point? He'd sacrificed so much to avoid causing either of these people pain, and here he was, hurting them one more time. He still didn't know how he could possibly survive this, but if he could stop making them bleed, at least it would be something. 

“I feel a lot better,” he told her, finding the traces of a smile somewhere. It was enough to draw a tremulous smile from her as well, and that made it easier. “I needed to... needed to do a lot of stuff, I guess.” He looked at Sam, including him in the conversation as well. “Sorry I didn't call.” 

“Well, what's a year between friends?” Sam quipped weakly. “It's good to see you again.” 

“Yeah,” Josh agreed. “I missed you.” He raised his arms slightly and suddenly Donna was in them, her own arms locked around his waist and her head buried in his shoulder. It felt better and worse than almost anything he could imagine. He pressed his own face against her shoulder for a moment, inhaling the scent that was detergent and light perfume and Donna, and only then thought to glance up at Sam. He was watching them with a strange expression, almost wistful, but happy, not jealous. He met Josh's eyes and gave him an approving nod. 

“I missed you too,” Donna murmured, her voice muffled against his neck. “Really a lot.” When she pulled back, her eyes were wet but she was giving him the full megawatt Donna-smile, one he thought he might never have directed at him again. 

It was enough to give him the energy to turn to Sam and repeat the process, with Sam as ready to hug it out as Donna had been. Sam was, as always, laundry starch and expensive cologne and Sam, a scent that always made Josh twenty-eight again for a second. He clapped Josh on the back and held him close, muttering in his ear “God, I don't even know why I missed you so much. Don't go away again, okay?” Then he pulled away and they were both looking at him, happy and shiny and obviously relieved that he wasn't melting down, relieved that he wasn't trying to damage them. 

Josh smiled back at them, and hoped that only half the things he felt were showing in his face. “I gotta go put my suitcase away,” he told them, gesturing in the direction of the house, “and maybe get a shower. Our presence is required in the kitchen for lunch.” 

“We're aware,” Donna said, making a long-suffering face. “There's apples and carrots in the fridge to snack on if you get desperate,” she advised, and then they let him escape. He counted his strides as he walked, pacing them off so they weren't too fast, evening them out so he didn't turn around. 

The guesthouse was familiar; he'd stayed here half a dozen times before on campaign trips and Presidential holidays. He'd probably stayed in every room at least once, but he had no idea which ones were still empty this time. The only way to find out was to peek in each one, or in the case of the first door on the left, to listen and get an idea of what CJ and Danny had decided to do instead of decorate. He passed that room hastily. The first door on the right opened easily, revealing a neatly made bed spread with the green blanket Donna did not travel without. Her travel alarm clock was on the bedside table, next to the case for Sam's glasses. Two suitcases sat against the wall, two towels dried on the rack next to the shared bathroom. 

Josh closed the door very softly, very carefully, and walked all the way down the hall to the third door on the left. He pushed it open and was relieved to find it vacant. Locking the door behind him, he tossed his suitcase into a corner and pulled off his clothes, leaving them in a trail behind him as he made for the bathroom, a tiny cubicle with only a shower, but private to this room. When the water was punishingly hot he stepped into it, closed his eyes and tried to wash it all away.


	32. We'll Only Be Making It Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got very out of hand because all of these characters just talk way too damn much! Hope you enjoy it anyway, I'll be posting the next chapter by the end of this week to make up for not getting as far as I hoped today. Also, AO3 was down for awhile this morning, so make sure you check out yesterday's new chapter of Ourselves and Immortality if you haven't seen it yet!

“So at this burlesque show,” Sam called from his spot on the bed, “are the dancers going to be... you know?” 

Donna stuck her head out of the bathroom, hands busy affixing one sparkly earring. “Are they going to be what?” she asked mischievously. “Attractive? I imagine so, we're paying a big enough cover to get in. They've got to be worth looking at.” 

“You're also putting a big dent in business for the night,” Sam pointed out, “going in with a Secret Service team. They've got to make the money somewhere.” 

“I'll order extra drinks,” Donna decided magnanimously.

“Are the dancers going to be naked?” Sam finally asked flat-out. “Because while I can understand the power and beauty of the human form, and that nudity can be an empowering symbol of sexual freedom, and a bachelorette party is in itself designed to be a celebration of female sexuality and empowerment and therefore it could be argued that going to watch nude dancers or indeed even participating in rituals involving nude dancing might be seen as the apotheosis of the form-” 

Donna was watching him, wide-eyed. “My god,” she murmured, “how many clauses are you going to put in that sentence before you verb?” 

“Thank you, Toby,” Sam muttered. 

“I don't know if they're going to be naked,” Donna admitted freely, putting in her other earring as she walked to the closet for her dress. She had her hair and makeup done but was currently only wearing underwear and a very sheer slip, a sight Sam took a moment to appreciate. He might have tried to do more, but the scene that morning was still making him feel... strange. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was some guilt in there, and some compassion, and other things that made him want to appreciate Donna's near-nudity in a mostly aesthetic way for the moment. “But I hope they're not. I wouldn't know where to put the dollar bills.” She laughed as she wriggled into her dress, which was snug and blue and danced exquisitely along the line of appropriateness. “Zip me up?” 

Sam leapt to do so, brushing the silky strands of her hair aside to protect them from the teeth of the zipper. “I'm just saying...” he began, aware that he was starting to sound a little pathetic, “don't you think Zoey's a little young for that?” 

That got him a full-throated laugh from Donna. “Zoey's twenty-five!” she exclaimed, “and she's getting married the day after tomorrow. You think this is going to be anything she hasn't seen before?” 

“Zoey's twenty-five?” Sam repeated. He had to sit down on the bed for a second. “I taught her to drive! Jesus Christ, I'm getting old.” 

Donna sat down next to him, wrapping a comforting arm around him. “You wear it very well,” she assured him. “Danny's still trying to convince me we should dye your temples grey before you start making television appearances to give you more gravitas.” 

“I think I prefer the youthful vigor look, myself,” Sam countered. “If I can just keep it up long enough,” he added mournfully. 

She gave him a playful swat to the arm. “Whatever you say, Mr. Ancient at Forty-Two. We'll take good care of Zoey tonight, you know we will. And don't you have a little debauchery to be attending as well?” 

If anything, Sam became even more mournful. “A captive audience with Jed Bartlet at his last opportunity to lecture the man who's about to marry his youngest daughter. It should be fairly excruciating for all concerned. My only hope is that the World Cup match tonight ends up being absolutely riveting.” 

“It could be worse,” Donna reminded him sympathetically. “At least you're not Charlie.” He snorted a laugh at that because she wanted him to. In reality Sam didn't think the bachelor party would be that bad, but he did think it unfair that only one side of the group got to go see a burlesque show. It sounded really interesting. Donna got up and went back to the closet for her shoes and purse, instantly gaining three extra inches when she slipped them on. “But if you get a chance during a quiet moment,” she told him, “you should talk to Josh.” 

“I plan on talking to Josh,” Sam assured her. “He's my best friend and I haven't seen him in months. I'm sure we're going to talk!” 

“I don't know,” Donna murmured. “I'm afraid he might try and avoid us. The way he was acting earlier...” 

“I know he was a little surprised,” Sam protested, “but he seemed to be pretty... okay, you know? More than I'd expected, even. Maybe the time away from politics gave him a chance to reflect and meditate.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “He wasn't surprised, that's the thing. I'm sure he knew we'd be here, and I'm sure he realized we'd be interacting. Didn't you see his face after he hugged us?” she insisted. “That was his marriage incentives and party switches face.” 

“His what?” Sam jolted a little, wondering if this conversation was suddenly going in an unexpected direction. 

“When Josh decides to take one for the team,” Donna explained, waving her hands. “Like when he had to add marriage incentives to that bill even though he knew Amy would make his life hell because the bill had to pass, or when he took the heat for Carrick switching parties even though Leo greenlit the strategy because the DNC had to be angry at somebody and it couldn't be Leo or the President. Though you weren't there for that one,” she allowed. Sitting back down on the bed, she looked at him somberly. “He puts aside his own feelings and his own needs because the greater good is more important. Like maybe people he cares about being happy, or not ruining a good friend's wedding.” 

Sam ran a hand over his hair, smoothing down any imaginary flyaway strands. He hadn't seen the look, but he also hadn't spent seven years as a professional reader of Josh Lyman's moods, either. “I thought he took it surprisingly well,” he finally admitted. “But if this is how he's decided to go with it, is trying to talk to him going to be much help?” 

“He needs to work through his unresolved feelings,” Donna explained, though she didn't sound entirely certain. “Otherwise he's just going to grit his teeth and get through this, and then avoid us completely so he doesn't have to deal with any of those emotions.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “And we've seen he's pretty good at avoiding us. I don't want to lose him,” she told Sam, obviously trusting him to understand. 

He did, though it honestly wasn't much help. Sam of all people knew how easy it was for Josh to slip away when he wanted to, had lived through it before. “I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to him,” he told her. “Don't you think it might be a little awkward for me to try and help him work through his unresolved feelings for you?” 

“Not for me,” she told him simply. “I have to deal with those. For you. And you for him.” 

“Donna...” 

She smiled. “I don't need to know everything, Sam,” she reassured him, stroking her hand over his shoulder. “I stopped donating blood when you and I started sleeping together just so I don't have to answer the stupid questions, and if I never know, that's okay. But I know there's something there, and it's been there as long as I've known both of you.” She shifted on the bed, rising to her knees and facing him, so that they were eye to eye. “Loving Josh is one of the first things you and I had in common. I think we still do, but I love you now too, and it's real and strong and I'm not giving it up. So we have to fix this somehow.” 

He stared into her eyes, transfixed. “How do we do that?” he asked softly. 

“I don't know,” she admitted with a soft laugh. “You're the lawyer.” 

Sam rested his forehead against hers. “I haven't come up against this situation before in any arbitration,” he admitted. 

“Doesn't matter,” she assured him, running soft fingers along his cheek. “Use those rhetorical skills, get him to open up. Or just give him three beers,” she added with a soft laugh. “That usually does the trick.” 

He pulled back enough to give her a narrow-eyed look. “So on this evening of prenuptial extravaganzas, you're going to go out with your friends to a club where you can watch naked people dancing, and Josh and I are going to stay home, get drunk and talk about our feelings?” 

She gave him a brilliant smile. “That seems to be the way it's shaping up, yeah,” she agreed. 

Sam sighed. “God bless the feminist movement,” he muttered. She patted his head consolingly. 

 

The women left for their party just before seven, since it was a two-hour limo ride to Boston even in good traffic. Sam could feel Josh's eyes on him from across the room as he kissed Donna goodbye and sent her off with Zoey, CJ, Liz, Ellie, and Charlie's little sister Deena. Abbey had decided that a mother of the bride would not contribute to the atmosphere of either party, and had taken herself down to Nashua for a spa overnight with a friend. Jed was not nearly so thoughtful to the needs of a party atmosphere and had parked himself in the living room in front of the brand new, very large television. Leo was in there with him, along with Liz's husband Doug who nobody was talking to and Ellie's husband the bug guy whose name Sam still couldn't remember. Sam went to the kitchen where Charlie was hiding out with his groomsmen and all the food and beer. 

Sam took a beer of his own from the fridge and opened it, then made his way over to Charlie. “Some party, huh?” he said quietly, grinning. “Sorry about that.” 

Charlie smirked. “We did our own thing before we left DC, so it's okay. I don't think you've met my cousin Mike,” he gestured to the guy on his left, and Sam shook hands with him affably. “And I don't know if you remember Anthony, my little brother.” 

It was on the tip of Sam's tongue to say he didn't know Charlie had a little brother, but then he remembered all at once. God, that had been a rough time. It had just about killed him to turn CJ down when she asked him to step in for Simon as Anthony's big brother, especially when he suspected that she was still mourning the fallen agent herself. He'd been working eighteen and twenty-hour days back then, though, and couldn't have taken on a book of the month club, much less a troubled and grieving teenage boy. He was abruptly reminded how many years ago that was now when Anthony looked him in the eye from Sam's own height and took his hand with smooth firmness. “I do remember,” Sam said happily, shaking Anthony's hand. “It's great to see you again! How've you been doing?” 

“Pretty good,” Anthony told him laconically. “Big bro here nagged me until I got my ass into college, but I didn't get tall fast enough to play pro basketball, so I had to actually study and stuff. They'll let me out of UDC in another two years.” 

Charlie grinned proudly. “Shrimpy's on the honor roll in the school of business and public administration. He's gonna be a politician one day.” 

“Or I'll get a real job,” Anthony shot back with affectionate scorn. “Weren't we gonna watch soccer or something?” 

“If you want to throw yourself on the grenade of the president's lecture on marriage and/or soccer, you go right on in there,” Charlie advised. “It's what a good groomsman would do.” 

Anthony scoffed. “I'm here to keep your ass from running away when you remember that you're about to marry the daughter of your old boss, who happened to be the President of the United States. Everything else is somebody else's job.” 

A knock on the door drew everyone's attention. Sam went to answer it, wondering who on earth would be here and feel the need to knock. Will Bailey stood at the door, looking flushed and nervous, with a case of odd-looking beer in one hand and what looked like some large pie in the other. “Am I late?” Will asked. “I didn't want to miss the kickoff, but I got partway here and realized that maybe I should've brought something. Is this a party where we bring things? I brought beer and pie.” 

“Beer and pie is good,” Sam told him with a grin. “Though Toby's not going to be here till tomorrow morning.” He took the pie and gave Will a one-armed hug before ushering him inside. “It's good to see you again. How's Oregon?” 

“Wet,” Will said with a grimace. “And more Republican than I'd like, at least in my district. But I've got some time to change their minds yet. Hey Charlie! Congratulations!” He and Charlie exchanged handshakes and manly back-pats, which Charlie pulled off with considerably more aplomb. “Has the game started yet?” 

“Hey, I forgot you actually like soccer,” Charlie said eagerly. “Come on, you should hear President Bartlet talk about it before the kickoff. We'll be right behind you.” 

“Okay,” Will agreed with an air of slight bewilderment. “I just have one question. I didn't want to come up through the front door because it looks like a haunted house set and Josh Lyman and Danny Concannon are hiding in it. What's that about?” 

“Who knows?” Charlie answered with a broad shrug. “I don't make any of the decorating decisions around here. They're probably just getting some air.” He nudged Will through the door and into the living room. 

“That was mean,” Sam laughed when the door closed again. 

“It was for the greater good,” Charlie told him soberly. “Five minutes in there will take the edge off the lecture and we can probably distract him with the food. I have it all planned out.” 

“All right then, I'll leave it to your expertise,” Sam allowed. He picked up the case of beer Will had brought, the label of which appeared to be entirely in German. With a shrug, he put it in the large refrigerator and snagged another couple of cold bottles. “I'm going to go around the front and find Josh. I'll be back in a little bit. 

“Okay,” Charlie said, sounding a little dubious. He looked for a minute like he was going to say more, but didn't. Sam saluted him with one of the bottles and walked out the door. 

Most of the bunting that CJ and Danny had hung that morning was already falling down, creating an atmosphere that was indeed a little bit like a middle-school haunted house production. Danny and Josh were sitting in the porch rockers, partially concealed by flapping cloth, drinking beer and not really talking. Sam hesitated a minute and then stepped up on the porch to join them. “Hey, pretty atmospheric out here,” he commented. 

Danny grinned easily at him. “Yeah, we're going to put up a slide projector and apply for an NEA grant in a few minutes. I tried to tell CJ that we needed more staples, but she was afraid for the woodwork.” He shrugged for the vagaries of women everywhere. 

Josh looked over and smiled too, but now that he was looking for it, Sam could see what Donna had already noticed. He looked sick behind the smile, like he was in actual physical pain and trying his best to hide it. “Some party, huh?” 

“It's just getting started!” Sam replied in his best optimistic voice, parking himself on the porch swing. “But until then, it seems pretty nice out here.” 

They talked for a few minutes, sporadically, Sam asking Danny about the progress of his book, Josh asking Danny about whether he and CJ were planning on getting a bigger house, which didn't make a lot of sense to Sam, but made Danny stutter a bit. Sam asked Josh about his new place in Florida and Josh responded that it was fine, everything he needed. He did not ask Sam about anything. Finally Danny stood up. “Well, nature's calling, so I'm gonna head inside now,” he said with false heartiness. “See you two later.”

He walked inside through the front door, leaving Sam looking at Josh and Josh looking anywhere else. “So,” Sam finally said. “Do you want to talk, or do you want another beer?” 

“Another beer,” Josh replied with great certainty. Sam opened one and passed it over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note for anyone who was confused by Donna's comment about blood donation: up until the 2010s, blood donation restrictions in the US forbade any man from donating blood who had ever had sex with another man since 1977, and deferred any woman who'd had sex with a man like that from donating for a period of one year. By not donating blood at all, Donna avoided having to ask or answer any potentially awkward questions. Under the new regulations, men who have not had sex with another man in the past year may donate, and women are only deferred under this rule if they've slept with a man who slept with another man within the past year.)


	33. But We'll Never Be Wrong Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo... here's Chapter 33. Hope you enjoy! Leave comments!

With Danny gone, the silence stretched between them, punctuated by the creak of the porch swing and the call of sleepy birds in the trees. Sam sipped meditatively at his beer, while Josh drank his like medicine. For someone who'd spent his adult life crafting speeches and statements for a living, four years of it for the most powerful man in the world, having no idea what to say was a vaguely unnerving experience. Finally he just went with his gut. “Donna wanted me to talk with you tonight,” he said truthfully. “She's worried that you aren't okay with this.” 

“This?” Josh repeated, predictably searching for an out. “This wedding? I'm a hundred percent in favor, I promise you. When two people have been waiting for years, going through everything life throws at them, getting knocked down over and over again but getting back on their feet, don't you think they deserve a happy ending?” His voice was jovial and combative at once, the happy warrior looking for a fight. 

“Of course,” Sam answered, “Charlie and Zoey are going to be very happy together. I couldn't be more pleased to be here for their wedding, no matter how old it makes me feel to know that a child I taught to drive is now twenty-five and getting married.” 

Josh choked a little. “Twenty-five... holy god. I hadn't really thought about that. I used to pick her up and toss her in the swimming pools at our campaign stops, and now she's older than Donna was then.” He stared off into the twilight, suddenly looking melancholy. 

“I'm in love with Donna,” Sam declared boldly, letting the words hang in the air. 

“Yeah, I got that memo,” Josh replied, and now the flare of pain was so obvious Sam wondered that he hadn't seen it before. “You want a party?” 

“You told her that you love her too,” Sam noted, his voice careful. 

Josh shrugged it off. “I was... it was a weird day. It was just something I said.” 

“Is that really all it was?” 

“Fuck, Sam, what do you want, a signed affidavit?” Josh demanded, rounding on him with a speed that made Sam jump. “How about I just tell you she's all yours and I'm happy for you, and you get the hell off my back about it?” 

Sam backed off, letting the words hang in the air. He knew Josh, knew nothing would make him squirm more than an angry volley left unreturned. Sure enough, after only a minute Josh began again. “Look, Sam-” 

“The thing is,” Sam broke in, his voice even, “Donna doesn't think that your feelings towards her are the problem here, or at least not the only problem. She wanted me to talk to you about, well, you and I.” He met Josh's look, held it steadily. 

Josh didn't seem to know what to say. “I didn't know she knew,” he finally managed to get out. “Did you-” 

Sam shook his head. “It's Donna, I didn't need to. God, I think she's always known on some level; you know how she reads people. I've never really told her anything, but yeah.” 

Josh rubbed his forehead, looking baffled and lost. “So after all that, knowing all that... was it like a support group or something?” 

Sam was surprised by the comment, had no idea Josh was so self-aware. “She needed a place to go, and a friend. And then we were both lonely, and we started spending a lot of time together. How could I not fall in love with her?” 

“Yeah,” Josh agreed softly. He stood up from the rocking chair and walked to the porch rail, staring out into the rapidly fading evening 

“Did you know?” Sam asked, not sure he wanted the answer. “How she- how we felt about you?” He rose from the swing and went to stand by Josh, looking at his face in profile. 

There was a pause. Josh took another long drink, finished off his beer. “Yes,” he finally admitted, biting off the word like an unwilling deponent. “It didn't matter.” 

“It didn't matter?” Sam echoed, unable to keep the disbelief out of his tone. 

“It didn't change anything!” Josh explained, his voice rising as he turned to face Sam. “How we feel doesn't matter in politics. It's about what people see and what they say, and there was nothing good there for any of us. I couldn't love you and make you president someday, I couldn't love Donna and not destroy her career. Neither of you were going to stop it, and somebody had to before everything went to hell. Somebody had to stop it!” he repeated, his voice half a plea. “And every relationship I have turns to shit, even the uncomplicated ones, and I lose people. It seemed like the only way... and then you were gone anyway.” He went hoarse on the last words, and Sam silently handed over his own beer bottle.

“We don't want to lose you, Josh,” Sam told him quietly. “We miss you, and we're worried about you, and we want you to still be part of our lives.” 

“I don't know if I can,” Josh replied with a frank honesty that was a hundred times more painful than angry words. He took another drink. “I don't know how to deal with any of this. It's easier to be completely alone than to see you and her together and not be-” He cut himself off by finishing Sam's beer as well. “I really do want you to be happy,” he finished, his voice still raspy. “And if you think I don't miss you every day-” 

All at once, Sam couldn't bear it anymore. Not the pain, or the isolation, or the overbearing sense of lost opportunities. Watching Josh hurt was killing him. One step brought their bodies together, one gesture had him grabbing Josh's shoulders and pressing his lips to Josh's. Sense memory flooded back, the taste of Josh mixed with the taste of beer, the warm solidity of pressing against a body sturdier than his own, the sound of harsh breaths in quiet, out-of-the way places. And after a moment's hesitation, Josh was kissing him back, his arms sliding around Sam's waist and his eyes closing in surrender to the moment. It felt like forever, but it couldn't have been too long, couldn't have been more than a few seconds, really, before a muffled noise from inside the house had them breaking apart, stepping back, trying to regroup. 

Josh's eyes were very wide, his hair even more disordered than usual. He stared at Sam and Sam stared back, racking his brain for anything to say. “You know,” Josh said, sounding choked, “I don't think that really helped at all.” 

Sam could feel his own skin flushing red. “No, I guess not,” he agreed. “Josh, I'm-” 

Josh shook his head, cutting him off. “We should get back inside. And ideally never talk about this again.” 

“I have to tell Donna about it.” Sam turned, braced both hands on the railing. “I can't keep this from her.” 

“It was an accident,” Josh pointed out thickly. “And she's been cheated on before. She might not forgive you for it.” 

“I know.” Sam stared down at the rail. “But if I lie to her, I've lost her already.” He scrubbed both hands over his face, tried to pretend her couldn't still taste Josh on his lips. “We should get back inside.” 

The rest of the night was a little slice of hell, trying to act normally around his friends, trying to be happy for Charlie when all Sam wanted to do was jump in a hole in the ground and pull the earth in after him. He and Josh kept as much of the room as possible between them, and though he was sure people noticed, he was equally sure none of them guessed the real reason. One thing was for sure, Sam didn't drink another drop all night, and neither, he noticed, did Josh. 

It was almost two in the morning before the women arrived back from their party, heralded in the guesthouse by CJ's rich laughter rolling up the stairs. Sam had been waiting sleepless in his room for the two hours since the bachelor party broke up, so he heard them right away. Donna was humming when she walked in, tipsy but not stumbling, and looking as though she'd had a very good time. She grinned when she noticed him sitting in the side chair by the window. “You didn't have to wait up,” she told him. “I thought you boys would be partying till dawn.” 

Sam rose from his chair and made himself turn to face her. “Nah, we like to pack our parties into small and efficient blocks of time,” he replied. “Did you have fun?” 

Donna laughed. “It was amazing!” she told him, tugging off her shoes and arranging them neatly next to the suitcase, then removing her pantyhose. “The dancing was gorgeous, and, well, the dancers were nothing to sneeze at either.” She tossed the hose aside and indulged in a good scratch, something that usually amused Sam, but tonight just reminded him how desperately he loved her. “Liz bought Ellie a lap dance, they didn't call it that but it was one, and she nearly passed out. Then they wanted Zoey to get up on stage and dance, with her clothes on, obviously, but you never know where there might be a photographer, so instead Margaret and Carol got up and...” She trailed off when she realized he was just staring at her. “What's wrong?” 

He couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Some small and cowardly bit of him had hoped she'd be plastered when she came back, so he'd have had an excuse to put her to bed and not say anything till the morning. But she was fine, perfectly coherent and on the ball enough to have some inkling of the fact that he was quickly losing his mind. “I have to tell you something,” he began. 

Donna stopped removing her earrings and walked over to him. Without her shoes on, she was just a little bit shorter than him, but that didn't stop her from catching and holding his eyes. “What's going on?” she asked softly. “Please tell me you didn't wind up punching Josh.” 

Sam laughed, painfully. “No, I didn't punch him,” he promised. “But I did talk to him, and there was beer involved, but not really that much, and I tried to sort things out with him... God, Donna, I kissed him,” he admitted in a rush, dropping his gaze. “I didn't mean to, I didn't even think about it. We were talking about the feelings he had for you, and for me, and he was talking about how hard it was to see us together. He looked so alone and... I'm so sorry. I don't know how to make this right.” 

He looked up to find her studying him intently. “Do you still feel the same way about me?” she asked. 

“I love you,” he swore, and it was like his politician's voice only even more sincere because he'd never meant anything more in his life. “I love you and I want to be with you for as long as you'll have me.” 

She nodded. “Did he kiss you back?” 

“What?” Sam blinked. “Donna, none of this was Josh's fault, you can't-” 

“Shh.” She put two fingers over his mouth. “People are sleeping, I'm not blaming him for anything. He didn't kiss back when I kissed him, and I don't know if it was just the circumstances, or he didn't feel that way about me, or what. It's been stuck in my mind. Did he kiss you back?” 

“Yeah,” Sam admitted, a little reluctantly. He wasn't about to start lying now. 

“Then I think I should kiss him too.” Donna bounced once on her heels and turned away, heading for the door.

Sam snagged her by the arm, turning her back to look at her face. “You think what?” 

She grinned at him. “It's only fair, Samuel.” 

Sam was speechless. Donna took advantage of it. “I'm not sure you knew what I meant when I told you I understand about you and Josh,” she explained. “I understand about you and Josh.” Sam thought about pointing out that she wasn't really clarifying things, but the tone of her voice said a lot, and it seemed like snark might be inappropriate at this juncture anyway. “Then, now, whenever. You love me and you won't give me up, I love you and I won't give you up.” She kissed him, a light brush of lips. 

He was starting to understand, even though the idea seemed a little bizarre, even farfetched. “You're okay with me having kissed Josh. You're okay with me kissing Josh,” he repeated. 

Donna nodded. “But fair's fair, right?” She looked away, brushing her hair back with the side of her hand in a gesture of uncertainty. “I know it might not be the same. I know he might not want- but I need to find out, right?” 

“If that's what you want,” Sam told her, wrapping his arms around her snugly. “But I think we need to talk with him before we do any, you know, experiments. And it shouldn't be tonight. Come on to bed, sweetheart.” 

She sighed and melted against him, letting him reach for the zipper on her dress. “I guess,” she admitted reluctantly. “No first kisses when anybody's been drinking. It's a good rule.” Shifting her shoulders, she helped him slide the dress down her body and off without really stepping out of his embrace. “Was it good?” 

Sam thought about it. “I don't really know,” he admitted. “I was too busy wondering what the hell I was doing to really think about it.” 

“Mmm, too bad,” she decided. “Maybe next time.”


	34. Giving Off Sparks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I really appreciated all the feedback on Chapter 33, some chapters are scarier to push out than others, even if you've been foreshadowing your little heart out. =D Anyway, I'm back on the road for Christmas travel starting tomorrow, with an eight hour car ride in which I'm driving the entire time, ugh. So if there's a story tomorrow, it'll probably be a short one, delivered late in the evening. Here's Chapter 34, hope you enjoy it!

Josh hadn't bothered to set an alarm for Friday morning, partially because there were no scheduled early activities at the farm, and partially because he hadn't really slept anyway. He'd lain awake for hours, staring at the wall until he got bored, then rolling over and staring at the other wall for some variety. He heard the women come home from their party, heard a giggly and giddy CJ wake Danny up in the next room. It really was just as well those two were getting married, but at least the walls here were better than in the dorms back at Harvard. He listened very hard for noises from down the hall, wishing now that he'd chosen a closer room. Would there be yelling? Would doors slam, would someone cry? After an hour of silence, when even the noises from next door had subsided, he put a pillow over his head and tried to go to sleep. It hadn't worked even a little. 

How could everything have gotten so fucked up, so quickly? He'd had a plan! Maybe it hadn't been the best plan, maybe his plans when it came to relationships didn't tend to turn out nearly as well as his political plans. Maybe he just needed to stop planning things, but at least there'd been a plan, and he'd been ready to stick to it. All he had to do was stay far away from Sam and Donna without making it look as though he was staying away from them, or giving anybody any idea that anything was wrong. He'd behaved perfectly all day long. At both lunch and dinner he'd sat at the same table with them and acted normal, so completely normal and happy that Zoey had pulled him aside after lunch and demanded to know what was going on with the “wind-up Josh-bot” routine. He'd claimed he was just contemplating who she and Charlie were going to pick to be godparents to their kids, simultaneously freaking her out about her future and giving a broad hint about the secret engagement. It had been unethical and underhanded, but Zoey had been distracted. After that, he'd been able to hide out in his room till the party itself. That was when everything had gone off the rails. 

In retrospect, his tactical mistake was clear. He should've gone in right away, grabbed himself a bottle of soda and a plateful of hot wings, and sat himself right down next to the president for the entire evening. Sure, he probably would've wanted to choke himself on a wing bone in the first forty-five minutes, but there would've been distractions and plenty of noise, and most importantly, not even a scrap of privacy. Going out on the porch with Danny had been an amateur move, especially when he knew Danny was fickle and could not be relied upon for backup when the chips were down. True to form, the reporter had disappeared the instant Sam showed up, leaving the two of them alone for what had to be among the top five most awkward conversations of his entire life, worse than the one with his mother when she'd found his secret magazine collection, right up there with the one he'd had with Mandy that time she'd been four days late. This one had beaten them both for most painful, the only competition he could call to mind at all was his conversation with Donna the night of the Democratic National Convention. And then... and then. 

Josh hadn't seen the kiss coming, not even a little bit. He wondered if it was really so surprising, or if he'd just been deliberately ignoring looks from Sam for so long, he hadn't seen what was obvious. All he knew was that one moment he'd been desperately trying to explain his plan, and why he had to stay away from both of them or risk coming to the point of doing something stupider than he'd ever done before, and the next moment he'd been in Sam's arms, kissing him in a way they hadn't done in years, a way he'd never quite been able to forget. For just that minute, everything inside him that was coiled and tight and angry and afraid had released, leaving him full of nothing but warmth and lo- and affection, safe and okay. 

Then a noise from inside had broken the moment, and suddenly everything was twice as bad as before. The plan was in ruins, though he and Sam had done a really good job of sticking to it for the rest of the night, and he'd left Sam to face the inevitable blowup with Donna by himself, because what could his presence possibly do but make it worse? He still wished he'd been there, if only so he wouldn't be left wondering exactly how bad it had been. Angry Donna could be loud and sad Donna could make a scene, but infinitely worse were her brooding rage and her quiet devastation. The silence from down the hall didn't mean anything, and yet he listened to it all night long. 

As soon as the sun rose, he gave up on pretending to try and sleep, instead changing into exercise clothes and heading out for a long run. The farm was a nice place for running, very different now that there was a small Secret Service garrison rather than a full presidential detail. Josh caught sight of an agent patrolling on a four-wheeler across the cow pasture, but other than that he was alone on the surprisingly crisp summer morning. While he was running, he could breathe again. He had no idea of how far he went, but it was two hours before he made it back to the guesthouse, the morning was no longer cool, and he was dripping sweat. From the noise in the direction of the main house, breakfast was being served, so he hurried upstairs to catch a shower and dress while everyone else was busy. If he could just avoid everyone until the rehearsal that evening.... well, he didn't know what would happen then, but it would be a start. 

He got his shower and got dressed, but just as he was buckling his belt, there was a light knock at the door. Josh recognized the knock, of course, he'd only heard it a hundred thousand times. He didn't want to answer, but he knew she knew he was there. Schooling his face to neutrality, he opened the door. 

“Good morning, Josh!” Josh hadn't expected Donna to be smiling. Or cheerful. Or to walk right past him into his room with a slightly-befuddled Sam on her heels. “You didn't come to breakfast,” she noted, looking him over. Both her hands were wrapped around a travel mug of coffee that she was not drinking from. 

“I went running,” he replied, looking from Donna to Sam and trying to decide what to do. The run had been good, but between that and a sleepless night, his brain really didn't seem to be firing on all cylinders. He closed the door and locked it, figuring nobody needed to walk in on this. “Is that coffee for me?” 

She gave him an arch look. “That depends, are you going to freak out if I actually give you coffee? You sometimes get the wrong idea.” 

“I will do anything if you just give me that coffee,” Josh swore. At this point, it wasn't as though he could make things worse. She passed him the cup and he popped the top entirely off, taking a huge swig . It had lots of cream and a little sugar, exactly the way he liked it and exactly the opposite of how Donna liked it, so she really had brought it for him. What the hell was going on? 

“Sam and I had a talk last night, and some more this morning,” Donna began. “He told me about what happened between the two of you at the party.” 

Josh stopped drinking. “Donna, I swear, it was-” 

She cut him off, but she was smiling again. “It's okay,” she told him gently. “I know how you two feel about each other. I'm not mad at either of you.” Donna took a deep breath, and if Josh didn't know better he'd think she was gathering her courage. “We both love you, and we knew that when we started seeing each other. We love each other, and we're staying together, but if you want, if you- if you feel that way about us too, we want you to be with us. We want to include you.” She was blushing now, a faint pink flush creeping up from her neck as she articulated words she'd probably never anticipated saying. Certainly words Josh had never thought she'd say. 

Sam jumped in, ready as always to be a spokesperson. “You said last night that you couldn't be part of our lives because it would hurt you too much to be near us and not be a part of what we have. And you're right, that would hurt all of us unnecessarily. But if you have feelings for us, and we have feelings for you, it only makes sense that we reach an accommodation that lets all of us have what we want.” 

Donna looked back over her shoulder at Sam, grinning. “An accommodation? Is that what we're going with?” 

He shrugged. “It seemed a little more grown-up than asking him to be our boyfriend.” She acknowledged the point with a slight tilt of her head, and then they were both looking at Josh again, watching him with impossible blue eyes and an equally impossible plan. 

“I... this...” Josh fumbled with his cup and slammed the entire contents, just for something to do. It was a lucky thing the coffee was barely more than tepid or he'd have given himself a thorough scalding. “This is crazy, it's- if anybody found out it would be political suicide...” 

Donna took a step towards him, coming close enough that he could smell her soft perfume, citrusy and warm. “That's all details,” she told him soberly, looking into his eyes. “Stuff to work out. We want to know if this is what you want. Do you still love us?” 

His mouth went dry all over again as he stared at her, glanced at Sam, both of them watching him and waiting for him to say yes or no. For all her bravado, there were nerves in Donna's eyes and he knew she was remembering the hotel in San Diego. He knew this was his last chance. If he said this wasn't what he wanted, if he turned them away, they'd never say anything about it, probably wouldn't stop trying to be his friends, but they'd never open themselves like this to him again. “I... god, yes. Yes.” 

And then she was kissing him, and the taste was everything he hadn't wanted to let himself remember, sweet and addictive and just a little coffee around the edges. Her arms were around him, slim body pressed to his, her breasts soft against his chest . It was a really excellent kiss, enough that when she pulled back, he made a little involuntary noise of protest. But then Sam stepped in for his turn as well, and that was also excellent, even better than last night without all the beer and anguish, and somehow it didn't even feel strange that Donna was still right there with her hand comfortably resting at his waist. 

Josh started losing track of the specifics over the next few minutes, swamped with sensations and still more than a little dazed by what was happening. Kissing, a lot of kissing, not just the really fantastic explorations of mouths and tongues, but Donna nibbling on his ear and Sam kissing down his neck and both of them holding him as they learned or relearned what he was like, and vice versa. Sam wasn't a large man but he'd filled out in the chest and shoulders since their intern days, and his hair was still crisp under Josh's fingers but now it showed just a hint of gray at the temples. Donna was all long willow-wand strength and grace, fitting into his arms as he'd always imagined she would, laughing as she kissed him and kissed Sam. Josh also lost track of the time, but it was a solid few minutes at least, for all there was no removing clothes and surprisingly little groping. It was a very PG sort of makeout session, though any censors might have balked at the number of participants. 

Noise on the stairs had them stepping apart, with Sam brushing one more kiss over Josh's cheek and Donna smoothing his extremely tousled hair. “Josh?” CJ's voice came through the door. “Are you in there?” 

“What?” Josh called back, still trying to regroup. “Uh, yeah. Yes.” 

He could hear CJ laugh on the other side of the door. Much closer, Donna had her fingers clamped over her lips to keep her own giggles silent. “Are you still in bed?” CJ called. 

“No!” Josh squawked, and now Sam was screwing up his face in silent suppressed amusement as well. “I- I went out for a run! I just got out of the shower.” 

“Okay, thanks for sharing that,” CJ joked. “When you're decent, Abbey is looking for some strong backs to help carry chairs into the backyard. Do you know where Sam is?” 

“Wait, now Sam is a strong back?” Josh called back through the door, grinning himself at Sam's sudden outrage. 

“Any port in a storm, mi amour,” CJ called back. 

“Maybe he's out wandering in the fields,” Josh suggested. “You know writers.” 

“I'll keep my eyes open. Hurry up, there's a lot of chairs and Danny's got a back thing already.” CJ clattered back down the stairs. 

“I'll have you know I have a very strong back!” Sam exclaimed as soon as the noise died away. Donna snickered. 

“I was putting her off the trail,” Josh justified with a grin. He still had almost no idea what had just happened, and part of him suspected that he really ought to be a lot more worried about it. But instead he felt... really good. Like parts of him that he'd forgot were missing had come back, like even on no sleep he could conquer the world. Or at least a few piles of chairs. “I guess I better get down there.” 

Donna nodded. “We'll be down in a few minutes. See you later.” She kissed him on the cheek and Sam touched his shoulder and then they were gone. Josh tried again to worry, but his body was still humming. He was sure that part would come later.


	35. Forever's Gonna Start Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! May 2017 exceed all our expectations and live up to none of our fears! I know it's taken forever for this chapter, partly on account of the Eight Days of Christmas Fluff, partly because I've been sick as a dog for the past four days. The good news is, two of the Christmas Fluff stories are from this story-universe, so if you like this story, you should check them out! "On A Cold Winter's Night" is the story of the Christmas that Josh remembers in Chapter 6, when Sam and Donna together take care of him after Noel. "Thy Perfect Light" is the promised backfill from Chapter 24, telling the story of the Christmas after Sam and Donna started dating. They aren't necessary to the continuing plot, but hopefully you'll enjoy them. More notes on this chapter at the end!

There was a lot to do for everyone that day, helping with wedding preparations around the farm. Abbey had brought in decorators and caterers to do the bulk of the work, but somehow there was always another task. Donna ended up running all the way into Manchester to pick up some Barrington relatives she did not know, then spent another half-hour on the phone with Charlie's aunt, trying to talk her family in from where they'd taken the wrong exit and come out in Nashua. Zoey needed help packing her trousseau, and somebody had to help organize lunch while the whole bridal party was out for manicures and pedicures. Donna should've been completely in her element, but she couldn't concentrate on a damn thing. 

She wasn't complaining, really. If she was going to be distracted to the point of near-uselessness, she'd certainly much rather it be something like this morning, where for five or six minutes, the world had been a more perfect place than she'd ever really expected. She and Sam had talked for ages last night, neither of them able to sleep despite their best intentions. He'd related his entire conversation with Josh, and they'd talked about what they both wanted, how to find out what he wanted, and what it would mean if the stars aligned and they actually found themselves in a relationship with three people in it. She'd felt compelled to remind Sam of how dangerous it would be. Sam and Josh together would be a challenging sell in California, and probably a complete impossibility in a national campaign. Sam and Donna and Josh all together openly would likely end Sam's career in politics. He'd agreed that was a possibility, but it didn't even bear addressing until they knew where Josh stood. 

They'd skipped breakfast and gone to talk with him, which had taken every iota of courage Donna had possessed. It had been a lot easier to be brave when she'd been a little drunk, but that had seemed inappropriate before noon. All she'd been able to think about was that moment in San Diego, and how much it had hurt. But she'd survived it, she'd reminded herself firmly. And this time she'd had Sam at her back, putting himself on the line right along with her. That helped a lot. Then Josh had said yes, and she'd watched the chilly fear on his face melt into love and need, and this time when she'd kissed him, he'd kissed her back. Then he'd kissed Sam too, and that was a little weird but not at all unpleasant to watch, and then they were all together and she was holding and being held by the two men she loved most in the world, and it was really, really good. It hadn't lasted long enough, but she was sure by now that there would be a continuance, and really it was no wonder that she was having a hard time focusing on minutiae. 

Sam and Josh were both busy as well, she caught glimpses of them throughout the morning as they moved chairs and carried boxes for the decorator and her staff. All the guys were occupied with that except for Danny, who'd spun out some yarn about a bad back he'd developed while embedded for a story in North Africa and gotten out of carrying duty. He was taking pictures instead, and was much too happy about it. Toby arrived around lunchtime with Andy and the twins, who were both in the wedding as ring bearer and flower girl. It was fun watching Sam meet the kids for the first time, seeing the bemusement and joy on his face, and Toby's muted pride. For a youngest child who'd never done any babysitting, Sam was surprisingly good with kids, even rambunctious ones like the Wyatt-Zieglers.

Josh kept his distance for awhile, circling warily around the front-lawn picnic area before drawing in for a cautious rapprochement with Toby. Donna wasn't close enough to hear what was said, but Toby's matter-of-fact shrug and the slump of released tension in Josh's shoulders told her what she needed to know. By the end of lunch, the two were sitting side by side in tulle-edged lawn chairs, complaining about baseball as though they'd never stopped. The kids were lunatics, but a farmyard full of friendly adults and with a watchful Secret Service presence wasn't a bad place to let a couple preschoolers blow off steam. Andy looked more uncomfortable than anybody else, a bit of an odd woman out, so Donna went over and talked with her for a few minutes about some upcoming Congressional bills. Even people with little in common could always talk politics in this crowd. 

It wasn't till after lunch that Donna managed to get away for awhile, losing the crowd and heading back to the gazebo to catch her breath. Josh found her there after a few minutes. She watched the thoughts passing through his head as he looked around in all directions before sliding into the gazebo after her like a spy on a covert mission. She had to grin. “Very subtle,” she told him.

He made as if to not understand what she was talking about, but gave it up after only a second. “They never did tap me for more espionage work after Landstuhl,” he admitted. “But I think that was their loss.” 

“Oh, definitely,” she agreed with a soft chuckle. “You and Toby look better.” 

Josh shrugged. “Water under the bridge, I guess. We've talked by phone a few times, but hadn't actually, you know, in person. Guess it's my weekend for changing relationships,” he offered with a slightly rueful grin. 

“If you're feeling weird about this-” Donna began. 

“No, no, I'm not,” he insisted, then paused. “Well, yes, a little, and I can't imagine I'm the only one, but not like, enough to be running and screaming the way I probably should.” He ran a hand through his hair, sending curls in every direction. “But I think there are things that you and I need to talk out that aren't about, you know, all of us.” 

Donna studied his face. There'd been a time when she'd been so attuned to him that she could tell what mood he was in before he knew himself, but they'd both changed since then. She could see the discomfort easily enough, and what might have been guilt. “I guess you're probably right,” she told him. Just this once, she didn't let him off the hook by starting first. 

He took a deep breath. “When you left me-” She looked away, making him break off midsentence. Having him go straight for the heart of things was unexpected. Hearing him put it in those words was less unexpected. He waited, maybe wondering if she'd say something or try to set the record straight, but she kept quiet. “When you left,” he said again, “I should've called you.” That caught her attention, making her flick her gaze back to his. “I should've at least made sure you were all right. I was... well, part of me was glad to know that you went to Sam because you'd take care of each other. But I hated the fact that you left, and I didn't want to think about ways it could've been different.” 

“And you were angry at me for going,” she guessed. 

He nodded, and this time it was him who looked away. “I knew why you left,” he admitted, “but it wasn't any easier for me, and I hung in there.” 

Donna sighed, understanding his meaning. “I didn't just leave because of what you and I didn't have together,” she told him gently. “I left because I really was stifling in my job. I left because I needed something to change.” She paused. “I left because I wasn't finished healing after Gaza, and it wasn't going to happen at the White House.” 

Josh's eyes searched her face. “I didn't realize,” he finally said. “I... what do you mean?” 

She moved her shoulders in a restless shrug, keeping his gaze even though it was a struggle. “I didn't finish my physical therapy after the surgery; there just never seemed to be enough time in the day. I was getting along all right but I couldn't get back to a hundred percent. And the experience, the explosion, the hospital, it was all sticking with me. I would have dreams, or moments when I would feel so trapped and scared, or just angry, for no reason at all. I talked to Kate, and I talked to a counselor, but there was always something new and urgent happening, no time to deal. So I just didn't.” 

“You had PTSD,” Josh breathed, staring at her. “My god, Donna, why didn't you tell me?” he demanded.

“I don't know, Josh, why didn't you tell me about yours?” she shot back, regretting it when he flinched. “No, I mean... I understand why. I wasn't having flashbacks or losing time or having uncontrolled outbursts. It wasn't anything that affected my work, and I wanted to just put it all behind me. But I couldn't.” She was relieved when he nodded in understanding. “And part of me was afraid that if I told you, it might make things worse for both of us. I know you already felt guilty about what happened to me.” 

He exhaled once, a long, slow breath. “Probably,” he finally admitted. “We were both messed up that year. I wish... I wish you'd been able to tell me. I wish I'd been there for you. I owe you some lunches.” 

She smiled at him, feeling the tension in her chest loosen. “Don't think I won't make you pay up, either. There are some great lunch places in California. Come out for awhile, have a vacation, stay with us. It's been a long time since we could all just be together.” She reached out, wrapped her fingers around his. He squeezed back, his hand warm and solid. Kissing him here with so many people around would've been unwise, but feeling his hand and looking into his eyes, she felt the last dregs of San Diego draining away. 

“I've been thinking about taking a vacation,” Josh told her quietly. “I could really use a new start. You sure you guys have room for me?” There was more to that question than an inquiry about guest rooms. 

“Absolutely,” she assured him. “Anytime.” 

 

Sam and Donna didn't technically have to attend the rehearsal that night, but ended up attending at the last minute anyway for purposes of child-wrangling. Between Liz's little boy, Ellie's baby girl, and the Ziegler twins, Donna didn't see much of the rehearsal at all, though apparently there were no terrible disasters. The Bartlets' home church was beautiful, if a little stuffy and formal for Donna's Protestant tastes, and it won her full approval when a friendly church worker unlocked the nursery for them. Watching Sam handle Ellie's baby gave Donna ideas she wasn't quite ready to begin entertaining even in her own head, especially with their relationship about to enter an uncharted new chapter. But it was a thought to keep hold of for later. 

The rehearsal dinner was more fun, dinner and drinks at the restaurant next to the bed and breakfast where the staffers had lived on both Bartlet campaigns. They were all well-known there, and Donna got to see Toby take some ribbing from a friendly bartender about no longer having access to presidential M&Ms. Charlie's uncle and aunt, standing in loco parentis for the occasion, gave touching toasts to the bride and groom, as well as graciously thanking the family of the bride for hosting them. Donna admired both their grace and their nerves, stepping into a celebration full of people who were not only strangers, but some extremely important, probably intimidating strangers. She was glad Charlie had people like them, and could see some of where he got his own unflappable attitude. His sister also gave a toast, an impudent, funny series of stories about growing up with a brother who worked in the White House and dated the President's daughter. Deena steered away from the difficult and sad parts, focusing instead on the imagined angst of a teenage sister whose brother was much admired on television by her friends. “Somebody should hire her to write speeches,” Sam murmured in Donna's ear. “She's good.” 

President Bartlet stood up as well, of course, and delivered a touching, extremely rambling fifteen-minute toast about the happy couple that wandered to ancient Greece, the origins of democracy, the history of the Catholic church, and something about medieval basket-weaving in among the stories about Charlie and Zoey. The servers discreetly began serving coffee halfway through to go along with the champagne. But, as he always did, he managed to come around to the point by the end. “Zoey is my third daughter, my baby, and the one I believed I would have the hardest time giving away. I tried to convince her never to marry, that she'd be happy spending her life at home with Mom and Dad, in that perfect harmony in which we have always spent our days together.” 

He paused to let the laughter ripple through the crowd. “But on occasion daughters can be wiser than their fathers, and instead of heeding my words, Zoey went out and found a young man I am proud to welcome into our family, one who has been like a son to me for years already.” He raised his glass. “Charlie and Zoey, you have survived the crucible of public attention and great trial, your relationship has been tested by distance and time. I only have one single regret on this eve of your wedding, and that is that you didn't let me do this in the White House, where somebody else would move all those hundreds of chairs. To your health, long life, and happiness!” Through the chorus of enthusiastic assent, Donna wiped away a tear and grinned as she watched the happy couple kissing. 

Donna and Sam both would've liked another moment with Josh that night, but the guesthouse was twice as busy as it had been the night before, every room filled, many of them by happy relatives prepared to roam the hallways and socialize all evening. It seemed wiser to head to bed. In the morning, everything was all-wedding, all the time. Donna knew this because she'd scored a copy of the master schedule. Sunrise wedding yoga, wedding brunch, dressing in wedding clothes, taking wedding pictures (and Bartlet administration reunion pictures squeezed in there as well), last-minute wedding decorations, wedding motorcade to the wedding church for wedding time, then back to the wedding farm for wedding reception. Just reading it was a little overwhelming. She prudently took a shower very early. 

The schedule wound up coming in handy when Abbey Bartlet, always one for shrewd utilization of resources, tapped her and CJ to be Wedding Enforcers for the day. It was just as well, Donna figured; with this kind of organized chaos, this many people and this many cars, it was entirely possible that somebody might wind up stuck in Indiana if they weren't careful. Or at least in rural Vermont, which would be equally bad. CJ, who had managed the press corps for six years and the entire White House staff for nearly two, seemed to have no difficulty grouping people up and sending them in the way they should go, Nobody ever argued with her, not even the guys. By the end of brunch, most of them were just wandering around in tuxes or suits and looking lost, anyway. 

While the bridal party was busy with their pictures, Donna got hold of Josh and Sam both, which wasn't too hard because they'd been orbiting each other at a weird distance of about fifteen feet all day, close enough to be in eye contact and social talking range, but not close-close. It was definitely some kind of guy thing, but she was confident they'd sort themselves out. “Sam, we've got to give up our room tonight,” she informed him as they headed for an unpopulated area just behind the barn. 

“What?” Sam asked, baffled. “Why?” 

“Guesthouse is overbooked,” she told him soberly. “The bed and breakfast in town is full, and the closest hotel rooms are in Nashua. Some of the Bartlet and Young relatives are getting pretty old, and not very good at driving in the dark. They needed two more rooms for the night, and you and I are young and strong and fit to drive at night, so long as we don't get plastered.” She looked to Josh, grinning for the first time. “I sacrificed your room for the greater good, too. Sorry.” 

The light bulb went on for both men simultaneously. “Nashua, you said?” Sam repeated carefully. “That's a bit of a drive. I can't imagine anybody else from the wedding is staying there.” 

“Nope, just us, I checked,” Donna informed him. “I already booked a couple of next-door rooms. And if Josh's sensitive system gets the better of him, we can just give him a ride.” 

“Hey!” Josh protested, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. “Has anybody ever told you that you use your freakish organizational skills for evil?” 

“A few times,” Donna replied airily. “But do you really want to have to wait however long until we can all... talk?” 

Josh gulped, Sam grinned. “That's a hell of a thing to be thinking about during a wedding,” Josh managed. 

“You'll do great,” Sam assured him. 

“We'll be right there cheering you on,” Donna agreed. 

“That's pretty much exactly the problem,” Josh told them. He fidgeted, and for a minute Donna wondered if she'd pushed too far, too fast. The booking snafu had just seemed too perfect to pass up. And yes, maybe she was a little greedy, but she really had waited a very, very long time already. She was starting to wonder if there was a graceful way out of this when Josh abruptly relaxed again. “Okay then, guess we're packing up the suitcases before we go get these crazy kids married. I'll just toss my suitcase in your trunk?” 

Donna looked at Sam, met his grin with her own. “Perfect.” She was under no illusions that any of this was going to be easy. Even though she and Josh had sorted things out about the past, the future was going to bring more than enough trouble of its own. She didn't know how they would make any of this work logistically, or what people would think, or whether they could hold up emotionally under an entirely unique set of emotional strains. But they had tonight, they had each other, and that was a very good place to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT! This is the END of Such A Winter's Day! If you want to follow the story from here, check out the second story arc in the California Dreaming series: "Rental Cars and Westbound Trains." The remaining three chapters in this story are actually the first three chapters of that story, and you can read them there. I'm only keeping them here as well so I don't lose the comments. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading Such A Winter's Day! Back when I was thinking about doing this story, I knew pretty much right off the bat that trying to get this grouping to happen in a way that was at all satisfying was going to take a lot of narrative work, and it was going to have to start with Sam and Donna getting together almost from scratch. The reading audience was going to have to take a lot on faith, and I had no idea what kind of reception any of it was going to get. I'm very happy that so many of you have enjoyed the direction of the unfolding story!
> 
> Right from the very beginning, all my readers have been lovely and supportive, providing me with fantastic feedback and great ideas, some of which have made their way into this story and some of which may still crop up, here or elsewhere. I honestly, literally would never have been able to come this far in the story without everyone who's read and commented or kudosed or favorited or PMed. You are all the best, and I really hope you continue to enjoy the story! 
> 
> The end of Part II here coincides closely with the end of my 100-Day Fic-a-Day, which will be winding up on January 4. What does that mean? Well, for this story, that's actually really good news. Chapters of SAWD often take longer to write than many of my other works, so they can get pushed to the back burner when something has to go out the door by midnight. Being able to concentrate on this story for several consecutive days should ease the authorly burden. I still plan to update regularly! Comments and feedback are always welcome, I love hearing from people. Thank you all again!


	36. Hear Those Windchimes Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And lo, it did come to pass that E completed her first week of homeschooling first grade, and there were tears and tantrums, and some of them were even from her child. At the end of each day, she told herself "write the damn story," but she was much afflicted with a great weariness that would allow only for looking at Tumblr and reading other peoples' fanfics. But then a great day came, a Friday, and there was a field trip, and there was a two hour nap, and there was E's will to live returned to her, and lo, it was good. And thus begat the beginning of Part III of Such A Winter's Day, short but hopefully sweet enough, now presented to you for your enjoyment. Feedback is love and energy for more writing.

Donna woke slowly, luxuriating in the softness of her bed, cuddled into the soft warmth of arms around her. She was the only one who really slept in the middle; Josh and Sam were both sleep-rollers and couldn't handle it. But she loved it, on the few occasions they'd been able to manage nights together. This morning she was snuggled up to Josh, her back pressed to his chest and his arm slung around her waist as though she were a particularly favored stuffed animal. At the same time, she and Sam shared one extra-long pillow, their heads close together and one of his arms tangled with hers. The guys were both still sleeping, so she idled for a few moments and just enjoyed the feeling before yawning and stretching, stirring them both. “Mmm, morning.” 

Josh shook his head, tightening his arm around her waist. “Nuh-uh,” he muttered. “I'm declaring a moratorium. No morning.” 

“I second,” Sam agreed drowsily. Between one thing and another, they hadn't gotten to sleep until very late, especially considering that Josh's body was still on East Coast time. But Donna was a creature of habit and it was after eight in the morning, hours later than her normal wakeup time. 

She extracted her arms from Sam's and wriggled out of Josh's grip so she could sit up and nudge them both. “Come on,” she urged, “we're going to show Josh the beach today! Go out sailing,” she reminded Sam, to no avail. 

“Later,” Sam suggested, reaching up to try and pull her back down. 

Donna sighed at both of them. “I'm getting up, you two can stay in bed all morning.” She slithered off the end of the very large bed she and Sam and now Josh shared and padded into the bathroom. 

“Good idea,” she heard Josh mumble from behind her. Sam rolled over into the space she'd left, and Josh wrapped an arm around him instead. Donna snorted a laugh and closed the door behind her. Her body was twinging in a few places this morning, but all good aches, the sort attached to pleasant memories. She wasn't much of a shower singer, but her mood this morning was enough to bring out a little humming anyway. 

After Zoey and Charlie's wedding in June, they'd spent an amazing night together in Nashua, and then two weeks later, she and Sam had flown down to Florida for a long weekend at Josh's sparsely furnished condo. It had been another full month before Josh had been able to arrange some time off from his punditry obligations and fly out to California, but that was all right with her. Just the fact that he was coming to them this time was important, a milestone in their relationship. Donna loved Josh, and she knew that Sam loved him too, but neither of them could be in a relationship with him where they did all the work. This was a good start. 

By the time Donna finished her morning ablutions and wandered back into the bedroom in her towel, the guys were awake, if not exactly fully cognizant. She gave them a cheerful smile and started to get dressed, rather enjoying Josh's suddenly poleaxed look. Sam was always an appreciative audience, but he'd gotten past the stunned reactions months ago. Despite temptation, she kept her dressing quick and mostly functional, lest they miss out on any more of the morning. They'd made that mistake in Florida, and though Donna had no real regrets about a weekend where they never went outside, Sam had been talking about finally getting Josh out onto the boat almost since he'd gotten the boat. 

Breakfast was easy enough, the bagels and muffins Donna had picked up from the bakery combined with butter and a pot of coffee did the job just fine. There were not, she realized quickly, enough copies of the newspaper to go around. Even that wasn't too big a deal; she simply hid the one copy they did have in the back of the pantry to be read later. President Vinick had ruined enough perfectly nice mornings already, and she didn't even want to know what he might have up his sleeve today. She liked keeping up with current events, and she loved talking about politics, but one day off wasn't really too much to ask. 

Having all three of them together at the table was surprisingly domestic and not-weird (and one of these days Donna was going to stop checking her not-weird meter about this, but probably not just yet), with most of the talk concerning Sam's little yacht and all the things he'd done to it that he planned to show off to Josh today. Josh knew from boats about as much as he did from alien spacecraft but he was a good sport about it, listening with an only slightly glazed expression and making occasional jokes about polishing the bowspirit. Finally, though, as they were finishing the last of the coffee, Josh looked up from his mug. “I guess we need to talk about what happens when we go out.” 

Donna glanced at Sam, then looked back at Josh. “How so?” she asked cautiously. His tone of voice said he was talking about more than who had to ride in the backseat on the way to the marina. 

Josh grinned a little, his favorite half-sarcastic smirk. “I know it probably doesn't even need to be said, but none of this leaves the apartment, right?” He gestured to the three of them around the table. “You never know who's going to be hanging around taking pictures, especially in LA.” 

That got a frown from both his dining companions. “So what,” Sam asked, “you want us to act like strangers when we're out together?” 

“I don't think it has to go quite that far,” Josh replied, a sardonic note to his voice, “but the, you know, the touching and stuff, that's not gonna play well if anybody catches it.” 

“We've always touched each other,” Donna pointed out, toying with the edge of her napkin. “All of us, all the time we've known each other. Nobody's said anything before.” 

“Yeah, but that's different,” Josh insisted. “It's different when there's nothing underneath it to dig up. If somebody had looked at us in the White House and gotten suspicious and started looking, it wouldn't get them anywhere so it didn't matter. What about now, though? There's a hell of a lot more to find!” 

“So maybe they find something,” Sam responded, getting the stubborn set to his mouth that Donna knew well. “What does it matter? It's nobody's business but ours, and we aren't doing anything wrong.” 

Josh literally smacked his forehead with his hand, hard enough that it sounded painful. “Do you even hear yourself? A candidate for the U.S. Senate, talking about publicly engaging in a three-way relationship, including sleeping with another man? You wanna think about how that's going to play in Orange County? What about the Imperial Valley? What about if you ever want to even think about running for President? God, Sam, if anybody ever heard about what we've done already, your career is probably over.” He clenched his fists on the table and looked down at them, his voice strangled as he spoke. “If we were half as smart as we all say we are, we'd stop this here and now.” 

Donna reached out and covered one of his clenched fists with her own hand. “Maybe that would be the smartest thing to do,” she allowed calmly, “but it's not really what any of us want, is it?” 

“It's not about what we want!” Josh insisted. “It's about what we can possibly hope to have without destroying everything we're working for! Politics is ugly, Donna, you know that!” 

“Not everything can be about politics!” Sam insisted, his own voice growing louder to match Josh's. “There are things that are more important than politics! If we give everything up just to win an election or gain a few points in the polls, then what the hell are we doing any of it for anyway?” 

“You're right that it's dangerous, Josh,” Donna agreed, even as she took Sam's hand with her free hand. She deliberately underpitched her voice, lowering the volume and knowing they'd both stop to listen. “You're right that it might not be wise. Sam and I being together is probably not the wisest thing either. He could do a lot better in terms of a political match. But it's not what we want.” She looked at Josh, waited until he raised his eyes to look back at her. “We are more important to us than politics. You are more important to us than politics. God, look at everything we lost for the sake of the Bartlet administration! I'm not going to go through that again! We shouldn't have to give up everything just to serve the country.” 

Josh didn't say anything, just looked away. Sam took a deep breath. “I know politics is your life, Josh, but it's already just about killed you two or three times over. If there's an opportunity someday for me to run for president, then yes, I want to do it! But I don't want it more than I want you or want Donna. And if that means I wind up spending the rest of my life working in transactional law in some little LA firm, I can live with that. We've already changed the world, don't you think we deserve a chance to finally live in it?” 

“Yes,” Josh said, sounding like the word was being dragged from his unwilling throat. “But I need you to be able to change the world again. I need you to go to the Senate and fix all the stuff that's getting screwed up out there.” His hand relaxed slightly under Donna's, so that she could slip her fingers around his and squeeze them. “I can't do this if I'm going to ruin things for you.” He scrubbed his face with his free hand. “And honestly, I don't know how I'm not.” 

Donna looked over at Sam and quirked an eyebrow. He sighed, but nodded a little. “If it's what you want,” she told Josh, “we'll just be your best friends in public. We can go easy on the touching. But you may end up getting jumped in a broom closet sometimes, I make no promises.” She managed to say that last bit totally deadpan, despite Sam's snort of laughter. 

Josh laughed too, soft enough that she felt it through his arm more than heard it. “I guess that's a risk I'll have to take,” he replied. “In private, things can be the same, but in public...” He shrugged. “This is just how it has to be right now.” 

“The way it has to be really sucks,” Sam began, and Donna worried that he was going to start the argument all over again, “but I see your point.” 

“It's nobody else's business anyway,” she offered. “This gives us our privacy. Politics or not, I don't want to give that up.” 

Sam stood up and started to clear plates to the kitchen. “That's another good thing about ocean travel,” he called over his shoulder. “There's a lot of privacy!” 

Josh looked at Donna and grinned. “I knew he'd be able to bring it back around to that boat,” he murmured to her, sotto voce. She laughed.


	37. They Serenade the Shadow Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo.... hi again, everybody? Sorry this has taken so long to get out, I hate that I've made you all wait an entire month since the last update! Flu hit my house for two weeks in late January, and then I went out protesting and pulled a muscle in my leg that had me off my feet for another week, plus there was trying to get started with the homeschooling thing, a visit from my parents that required cleaning the whole house, etcetera and so forth. Basically it was an incredibly busy month, and even when I did have a few minutes to write, I was too damn tired to think of anything! But I have been banging this chapter out one very slow paragraph at a time, and now at last it is done and ready to present to you! I hope you enjoy despite the delay, feedback is incredibly welcome and appreciated.

Josh was the first to admit he gave Sam a lot of shit about his sailing hobby. He couldn't help it, it was low-hanging fruit and he was a man of simple pleasures. Even back in their days on the Hill, Sam hadn't shut up about sailing, though back then it had been sailing on his dad's catamaran or going out yachting with his friends from Princeton over a holiday weekend. Was Josh really supposed to just let that lay there in the dirt and not harass Sam mercilessly for his complete and utter WASPiness? It would've been unconscionable. And despite how pissed Leo had been, Josh also counted the day that Sam had tried to take a couple of important Democratic fundraisers out on his little sailboat and promptly fallen overboard as one of the happiest of his entire life. That was the sort of material that lasted for years. 

Even so, even if he couldn't quite say it out loud, Josh also had to admit that when he was out on the water himself, with the sky a bowl of perfect blue and the wind catching just right, he sort of understood how Sam felt about sailing. They'd gone out together a few times, back in the day, and it really had been a hell of a rush, and a nice break from the insane pressures of DC. Sam was a different person on the water, calmer, more focused, less insecure. It was the first time Josh had gotten a glimpse of who twenty-four year old Sam was going to be, what he could be. The last time they'd gone sailing had been just after the first Inauguration, when Sam had rented a sailboat and they'd gone out on Chesapeake Bay. It really was incredibly beautiful there. Sailing with Sam was just one more thing that had fallen by the wayside when he'd realized that whatever was between them had to stop. He supposed maybe it was poetic that now they were together again, in whatever strange and ill-advised way, that the first thing they'd do was hop in a boat. 

Things were different this time, of course. Sam had a new boat, a thirty-foot cruiser with brilliant white sails, christened Calliope after the muse of epic poetry. (Josh was still working on the perfect joke for that one.) They were on an entirely different ocean this time too, though Sam claimed he could actually navigate by the stars when sailing the Pacific. Donna was along this time, a highly capable first mate, which was entirely unsurprising to Josh. Whether it was joining a campaign, helping run a country or learning to hoist sails, there was very little she put her mind to that she couldn't master. For a girl from Wisconsin, she was quite at home on the sea, and of course her research was exhaustive. It was kind of nice to participate in an activity where he didn't have to be in charge or even understand most of what was happening, but could just let himself be carried along by people he trusted. 

They sailed out for quite awhile, though Josh took a little nap in the middle of it so he couldn't be sure how long. He woke to Donna smearing sunscreen on his face and got a little lecture about avoiding skin cancer, which he endured manfully for the sake of being able to return the favor. That was much more fun, especially since she'd exchanged her blouse and capris for a fetching blue bikini. The cold lotion on her back made Donna squeak, and he already knew all the ticklish spots on her ribs and behind her knees. By the time he finished chasing her around the deck and making sure she was adequately protected from the sun, Sam had dropped the anchor and the sails and run out a poly line with a lifejacket on it for swimming. By unspoken accord, Josh and Donna decided that Sam looked to be in danger of a sunburn as well and teamed up to make sure he was well-slathered. 

Sam, being not always so clumsy on a boat, retaliated by throwing Donna into the ocean and pushing Josh in after her, then settling himself on the side with the sober claim that somebody had to stay on the boat and keep watch. Josh was skeptical, but he also didn't want to become some cautionary tale for young sailors, so he refrained from pulling Sam in after him. Instead he splashed around in the cool, salty water and didn't bother to try and catch up with Donna, who swam like a porpoise after months of water therapy. The current wasn't strong out here and there were no other boats in sight, so he could turn on his back and just float a little bit, letting the sun beat down on his skin. Eventually Donna switched places with Sam so he could swim, giving him a chance to remind Josh how to use a dive mask and snorkel for a look around under the water. There wasn't a lot to see besides grey-blue ocean and Sam, but that was really enough of a view to get by on. Josh did his best Jaws impression and wound up wrestling in the water with Sam till he was half-drowned, then all three of them sprawled out on the deck to dry off in the sun and the breeze. It was the most fun, just silly, pointless, juvenile fun, that Josh'd had in years. 

Sam sat up after awhile and unpacked the sandwiches they'd brought, passing them around with bottles of iced tea. “So how's the pundit game treating you?” he asked Josh with ridiculous forced casualness. He was a good politician, just not around the people he was close to. Lying to the people you loved was probably the cardinal sin in Sam's book. 

Josh leaned back against the rail, glancing Sam's way from under the protection of his sunglasses. “Not too bad,” he replied laconically. “Did you see I went up against Mary Marsh on Capitol Beat the other day?” 

Donna laughed. “We both watched that. You'd think they'd know better by now than to schedule you two together.” 

“Are you kidding?” Josh retorted with no small pride. “They'd book us every week if they thought they could get away with it. Watching that sanctimonious god-botherer get put in her place is ratings gold.” 

“Telling her that “her guy” had a few things to say about whitewashed tombs was a bold move,” Donna commented, folding her legs up under her on the bench. “I'm not sure she got the reference, but some of her friends will.” 

“I've been doing my homework,” Josh told her proudly. “Understanding the writings of other religions. I guarantee it's not something that gasbag in a wig has ever considered doing.” He was bouncing a little in his seat now, remembering the thrill of a well-crafted insult. “I never really considered how much extra thought it takes to come up with new material week after week.” 

“Maybe you need a team of writers, like Leno,” Donna suggested, tongue-in-cheek. “Lots of folks looking to break into television writing in this town.” 

“But do any of them hate Republicans enough?” Josh wondered. “It's California, Donna. I hold these people directly responsible for Vinick.” 

“Not everybody in the state voted for Vinick,” Sam reminded him. “There are two Democratic senators right now, and I'm certainly hoping to keep it that way.” Josh could hear the conversational pivot in Sam's voice and tried not to shy away from it. He'd known this talk was coming, and he couldn't exactly dive overboard to avoid it. Sam had improved his strategic thinking considerably in the last five years. 

“It'll be a tough fight,” Donna chimed in with a nod. “Midterm year keeps the Democrats home, but enough of them are unhappy with the President's economic and ecological policies that we should be able to turn them out. The primary should just be a matter of getting Sam's name out there to the party faithful, but it looks like Jason Decker might be looking to make the jump from the House.” 

“Decker?” Josh squawked in spite of himself. “That little worm has his nose so far up Haffley's ass that I'm surprised he can see the Senate. No way is he going to become Senator!” 

“He's popular in his district,” Sam mused, “and like you said, California did go for Vinick last year...” 

“Because they lacked a viable alternative!” Josh insisted., fully aware that he was in grave danger of rebutting his own argument about Californians. “Any Democrat who can make even a vague appeal to moderates can look good against Decker. The one you really need to worry about is Candace Matthews.” 

“From Imperial Valley?” Donna asked. 

“Not for long, if she has her way,” Josh insisted. “Word is she's already hired a statewide polling firm and is expanding her PR staff. If she decides to run, she'll kick Decker's ass in the primary and come into the general with momentum to spare.She'll be popular with economic moderates and national security types, and even though the women's groups hate her, that doesn't matter so much because she's a woman herself. She'd be tough to beat.” 

Sam cocked his head, a little smile playing around the edges of his mouth. “Sounds like you've been giving this some thought already,” he pointed out. 

“Talking about this stuff is what I do for a living,” Josh retorted, trying not to sound defensive. He suspected he probably sounded defensive. “You can get hours of airtime out of bullshitting who's going to run for what office even in the midterms.” 

“You could be doing more than just bullshitting,” Donna offered, raising both her arms to put her damp hair back in a ponytail. That was really distracting, so much so that he almost missed the rest of her words. Almost, but not quite. “Sam needs somebody with experience to manage his campaign.” 

Josh looked away. “I thought you were doing that.” 

“I haven't got the experience,” she admitted with a little shrug. 

“Donna's done an amazing job on all the prep work,” Sam cut in, always ready to defend Donna even when it wasn't necessary. Josh could appreciate the sentiment. “That's the reason we're looking at a light primary; she's already spent six months talking Democrats around to our side, not to mention doing all the paperwork, making the contacts, all while working full-time and going to school on the side-” 

“Sam,” Donna interjected, cutting him off in turn with a frown that was a bit too indulgent to be truly annoyed. “It's okay, we talked about this. There's no shame in being inexperienced except not recognizing it. Josh has been in politics since...” She stopped herself, made a face. “I'm not even going to explore what I was doing when Josh got into politics, but he's got the experience, and the knowledge. The Republicans wouldn't know what hit 'em,” she added with a faint smile. 

Josh kept his gaze mostly averted, somewhere over the prow. “That wasn't exactly the case in my last election,” he muttered. 

Even without looking, he felt it when Sam came around to sit next to him, his sun-warmed chest pressing lightly against Josh's side. “You shot the moon last election,” Sam reminded him quietly. “Nobody could've done as much as you did, nobody could've done better. And nobody but you thinks you're washed up in politics. Any Democratic politician in the country would give their eyeteeth to catch your attention and have you do what you did for Matt Santos. And you haven't noticed Santos complaining, have you?” Sam ran his fingers through Josh's hair, rested his forehead against Josh's temple. “I'm not asking you to prove anything because you've got nothing to prove. But we want you to do this with us.” 

Donna stayed where she was, and he wondered if she knew how trapped he would feel between them both right now. She'd always been good at reading him. “And it would make a lot of things easier,” she added carefully, “in regards to what we were talking about this morning. It would only make sense for us to spend a lot of time together. For you to move to California, even.” She drew one knee up and rested her chin on it, regarding him unflinchingly. “Maybe it's time to get up off the mat.” 

Josh ran a hand through his hair, dislodging Sam's fingers only slightly. “I have to think about it,” he told them, not liking the pleading edge in his own voice. They were right, in a way, but they were wrong too. Nothing about this was going to be easy, and moving to California, getting into the campaign, all of that would just make things even more complicated. In Florida he could be a penpal-with-benefits, but in California... Despite all that, he was surprised at how much he wanted it, wanted more days and nights like this, wanted to believe that somehow they could have something outside of politics just for themselves. “I will think about it,” he promised. “Just give me a little more time.” 

Sam nodded, drawing back just a little without actually releasing Josh. “Okay,” he agreed. Josh could tell that he wanted to add supplemental pleadings, but a smart lawyer knew when to let his argument stand. They sat in the quiet for a minute, the sun beating down even as the breeze cooled his skin, and Josh wondered if maybe they could just keep sailing and not turn back towards land, and then they'd never have to make any of these impossible choices. Was that the feeling that drew Sam back to the sea again and again? 

But eventually Sam got up and raised the sails, with Donna helping him and Josh calling out not-very-helpful advice from his seat until Sam threatened to throw him overboard again. They caught the tide on the way in and made excellent time (according to Sam, since for all Josh knew they were going the wrong direction entirely), so that by dinnertime they were docking back at the marina and washing the boat. Sam insisted that boatwashing was a vital component of the sailing experience, as well as important for keeping the boat in tip-top shape despite the fact that the boat was literally covered in water and sailed in water. He also promised that next time Josh came out, they'd do a weekend-long sail, and show Josh the cabin beneath the deck. It was an unstated reassurance that no matter what happened with the campaign Josh would be welcome, and also a fairly intriguing idea. 

By the time they got back to the condo, all three of them were a little sunburnt despite precautions, exhausted, and ravenous. They ate Chinese take-out straight from the cartons, rubbed aloe on each other, and collapsed into the big bed in a much less seductive fashion than they had the night before. It was still good. He kissed Donna's hair and stroked Sam's back, listening as they both fell asleep around him. Josh had no idea what he wanted to do about the campaign or his career or any of it, but he knew that whatever happened, whatever he did, he didn't want to lose this.


	38. Ring and Fade Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, and a hearty "I'M SO SORRY!" for everyone who has been patiently waiting for more of this story. On top of the busy schedule of homeschooling and needing to work on other projects, I've faced a ton of writer's block on this story. It's only this week that I've finally realized why. Such A Winter's Day was conceived as a story of Donna and Josh and Sam getting together as equal partners in a relationship. That's what the story was about when I conceived it, that's what the whole thing built to, and that's what happened in Chapter 35. Everything that happened after that was actually a new story. I was so proud of managing to actually accomplish what I set out to do that I became terrified of ruining it by adding a whole new part onto it.
> 
> So what I've decided to do is to treat it like two stories. I'm posting this chapter here to let you all know I'm still alive and writing, and also to let you know that starting with the next chapter, I'm going to be breaking the work in two. Chapters 1-35 will remain Such A Winter's Day, which will be marked as complete. Chapters 36-38 will become the first three chapters of a new story, which I will then add to. If you want to make sure that you get a notification when this happens, make sure to subscribe or follow me and you'll be the first to know. Thank you to all of you for your patience and encouragement, I hope you still like the story!

“So, a hurricane, huh?” 

“Not yet, it’s just a tropical storm. A big tropical storm.” Josh’s voice on the phone was amused, despite a thread of worry. “My mother has firmly enjoined me against using the H word until we’re sure it’s going to make landfall, and even then it might not hit anywhere near us. Anyway, I can’t really take it seriously.” 

“Tropical storms are pretty serious,” Sam countered, leaning back into his office sofa and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. “Even storm-force winds can be dangerous, the rain can lead to flooding…” 

“Yeah, but Dean?” Josh interrupted. “I just can’t picture a hurricane named Dean as a real threat. That’s like the guy who fixes your toilet when it clogs up, or changes your oil. If they want us to take these things seriously, they’re going to need to put a little more testosterone in the names.” 

“Like Hurricane Joshua?” Sam asked, laughing. 

“I can assure you there are plenty of people in DC who’d sit up and take notice,” Josh retorted smugly. It was good to hear Josh being smug again, oddly enough. During the Santos campaign, he’d been frazzled and frantic, afterwards he’d been much more subdued than Sam had ever seen him before. He put up a good show for television, but it wasn’t the same Josh who’d terrorized the Ops bullpens with demands for pastries and worship after winning the tough victories against Congress. Despite the occasionally insufferable moments, Sam found himself missing Josh’s arrogant swagger. 

“Funny enough, I made the same point to Donna, about hurricane names, I mean, and she pointed out that Hurricane Donna beat the tar out of the Lesser Antillies before half-drowning Florida in 1960,” Sam parried. “They retired the name and everything.” 

“She would know that,” Josh replied with a chuckle. “In any case, we’ve got the storm shutters ready to put up if the storm gets any closer, and you know how my mom is with emergency preparedness. If you think the box in my car was nuts, you should see her garage. She’s got enough supplies to feed the neighborhood for a month, and one of those gas-powered generators too. The minute it starts raining hard, I’m heading over there. But it’s not going to happen, number one because it would have to swing at a really improbable ninety-degree angle to hit Florida, and number two because its name is Dean.” 

“You’d better hope you’re right,” Sam informed him mock-soberly, “because if not, you’re never going to hear the end of it. But you know,” he added, making a deliberately heavy-handed segue, “if you want a really fool-proof way to avoid hurricanes...” 

“I should trade them in for earthquakes?” Josh finished. “I’m not sure that’s much of an upgrade. At least a hurricane has the courtesy to make an appointment instead of just dropping by anytime.” 

“There aren’t that many earthquakes,” Sam protested, “and there are other benefits as well. If you’re worried, I’m sure we could start stocking up on canned goods, just in case. So have you thought about it?” 

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” Josh admitted, dropping the banter for the moment. “It’s a tempting offer, and I know I told you I’d come with you when you started running for office. But I was much younger and stupider back then, and I had a lot more energy,” he admitted frankly. “Running the Santos campaign… I don’t know if I can do it again. Look how it turned out last time.” 

“Josh...” Sam desperately wished that there wasn’t a continent separating them right now, wished that he could see Josh’s face and put his arms around him. “I don’t know when you’re going to start believing that the Santos campaign wasn’t a failure, but it wasn’t. You did everything right, and it was just inertia and fate and timing that didn’t work out. But putting all that aside, this isn’t going to be like that. This is a state campaign, for one thing. It’s on a whole other scale, practically little league for a guy who’s done three national campaigns. But more importantly, you’re not going to be doing it on your own. We’re going to be right there with you, and it’ll be different.” 

Sam could hear Josh’s laugh, barely a puff of exhaled breath, on the other end of the phone. “That’s part of what I’m worried about,” Josh admitted. “When I’m with you, I don’t think much about politics. It’s not exactly what you’re looking for in a campaign manager.” 

“Yes it is,” Sam countered immediately. “You saw the shills the DNC gave me when I was running in the 47th. They thought about nothing but politics, and I almost ended up punching one in the mouth. I want somebody who isn’t only thinking about politics, somebody I can count on to be looking at more than that. I know you’re my guy.” 

A moment of silence. “Just a couple more days,” Josh finally asked. “I need to talk it over with my mom and with… there’s a guy I’ve been talking to down here for a couple months,” he admitted. “Stanley recommended him. I promised you I was gonna do what it took to get better, and I’ve been working on it. But it took forever and I don’t really want to break again.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Sam told him. “It’s still August, we have a little time. Your health comes first anyway, that’s not even a question.” He paused for a moment. “But hypothetically speaking, if you were managing the campaign, what would you be telling me to do for the next month or so?” 

“That’s easy,” Josh said immediately. “Get a ring on Donna’s finger and a wedding date set.” 

“What?” Sam was pretty sure his voice hadn’t been that high a minute ago. 

“Single, never married playboy living in sin with his girlfriend, that’s not exactly the image you’re looking to project,” Josh counseled. “Especially since you know somebody’s eventually going to dig up the hooker- the call girl thing,” he corrected before Sam could protest. “Living with your fiancee is considerably better, but living with your wife is going to be the best.” 

“Jesus, Josh, I was more looking for ideas like “build a fundraising infrastructure for small donors,” Sam protested weakly. “You’re telling me to get married?” 

“What, don’t you want to marry her?” Now Josh sounded indignant on Donna’s behalf, which was just bizarre. 

“Of course I do,” Sam said immediately, not even needing to think about it. “But I don’t want to mess up this thing we’ve got either. Getting married is a big step, and I assume your plan is to be the best man or something.” 

“I have some great ideas for a bachelor party,” Josh assured him. “And President Bartlet will not be included in them.” 

“Don’t you think this is weird?” Sam pressed insistently. “You’ve got to think this is weird. How can I marry Donna when we’re all three of us together?” 

“Easy,” Josh told him. “There’s a church and a minister and some rings, and what I’m sure is going to be an extremely WASPy ceremony...” 

“For God’s sake, Josh!” 

“Come on, Sam, be reasonable!” Josh was starting to sound impatient. “There’s no way for the three of us to be together publicly, it’s just not a thing that’s going to happen. You and Donna have been dating for a year, you’re a perfect couple, and everyone is expecting you to get married. I don’t think that you two sharing a last name and matching pieces of jewelry is going to change how any of us feel, right?” 

“No, of course not,” Sam said automatically. “But it doesn’t seem right...” 

“For the campaign, for the politics, for our privacy, we need to concentrate on how things look,” Josh reminded him. “But when it’s just us, how it looks doesn’t matter compared to how it is. And if that’s not going to change, then you two being married is going to make everything easier. Rumors go away, the pressure is off, and you’ve got yourself one hell of a wife in the bargain. It’s a win-win.” 

Sam sighed. “I’ll have to talk to Donna about it.” 

“Well yeah, I’d hope so,” Josh chuckled. “Women sort of hate it when you spring a wedding on them.” 

“About all of it. And you should talk with her too, in person, ideally. When can you get out here?” 

“That was well done, very sneaky,” Josh complimented him. “I’ve got a thing with CNN tomorrow night, and I’m flying into DC on the weekend to do Capitol Beat in person. Can you free up any time early next week?” 

“Yeah, we’ll manage,” Sam told him. “You going to bring an answer with you?” 

There was a moment’s pause. “Yeah, I’ll tell you then. Give my love to Donna. And to yourself, too,” he added belatedly. 

Sam snorted. “Is it really that hard to say out loud?” 

“Well… yeah,” Josh protested, his voice getting just a little squeaky. “We’re men, and men don’t say shit like that. Haven’t you ever watched an action movie?” 

“Just a few, and I don’t feel any aspirations towards being like most of the heroes,” Sam pointed out. “We’ll see you next week, then. I love you, Josh.” 

“I love you too, Sam,” Josh’s voice was only a little strangled when he said it. Sam counted that as good progress.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The question](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8186582) by [Tonnocal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonnocal/pseuds/Tonnocal)




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